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THE 



HISTORY OF THE LIFE 



OP 



/ 

THOMAS ELLWOOD, 






WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 



WITH A 



SUPPLEMENT BY JOSEPH WYETII. 



STEREOTYPE EDITION. 



PHILADELPHIA: ft* 

FOR SALE AT FRIENDS' BOOKSTORE, 

NO. 306 ARCH STREET. 
t O 



PREFACE 



u Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing 
be lost," was the direction of our Saviour to his disci- 
ples, after he had fed the multitude. Which may well 
and usefully be applied to the collecting and preserving 
the accounts of the lives of good men ; men, who, in 
their day, have been eminently useful in those stations 
of life wherein God, by his good providence, hath 
placed them. And this preserving, by publication, is 
the rather to be done, when themselves do leave behind 
them, in writing, an account of their lives, and of the 
signal mercies of God to them therein : for, from such 
accounts may best be gathered, by the reader, the man's 
particular state, exercise, and growth in the work f.f 
restoration, out of the fall and degeneracy; and, in 
the reading thereof, be not only excited to bless the 
name of the Lord, on his behalf, but also gain some 
direction from the path so fairly tracked out, and a 
ground of hope ; that, by being faithful, they may 
likewise attain to the same good experience. 

(iii) 



IV PREFACE. 

There is not with me any doubt, but something of 
this kind may be the lot of many, into whose hands 
this treatise may happen to come ; for that they will 
herein meet with an account of variety of exercises, 
and the providences of God therein, all related with 
great strength and plainness of speech ; our deceased 
friend, Thomas Ellwood, having been a man whom God 
had endued with singular abilities, both as a man, and 
as a Christian ; which is evident, not only from this 
short account of his life, which was written by him- 
self, and by the Supplement added hereunto, but more 
largely from his many useful labours and services, and 
the many books which he wrote in the defence of 
Truth, and the friends thereof; for which service he 
was in a particular manner qualified by spiritual 
wisdom, and Christian obedience. To which, in him, 
was added great strength and depth of judgment, 
wherein he could discern the spirits of others, and was 
very much the master of his own ; as did appear to 
such who knew him, not only by the soundness of his 
reasoning, and the seasonableness of his w T ords, but 
also by his great and exemplary modesty, in that he 
was not hasty to propose, nor rudely tenacious to 
insist on what he had proposed, if any thing, though 
not well expressed, yet well intended, was offered by 



PREFACE. V 

any one much weaker ; nay, though by but a babe in 
Christ. 

His countenance was manly and cheerful; his de- 
portment grave, yet affable and courteous, even to the 
meanest person ; his conversation innocent, pleasant, 
and instructive, yet severe against anything that was 
beyond the liberty of Truth. These, with his other 
qualifications of body and mind, did render him both 
very acceptable and very useful, as a friend, as a 
neighbour, and as a member and elder in the church 
of Christ ; and the more, for that his time was chiefly 
employed in being serviceable in one or other of these 
capacities. 

I might here particularly mention the several labours 
of our deceased friend, according to their respective 
times, and the nature of their several subjects ; but 
much of this being already done in the ensuing pages, 
I choose to refer the reader thither, by which possibly 
he may be excited to the perusal of them ; and shall 
only say concerning them, that the judicious reader 
will easily observe, that his method and style denote 
him to have been a scholar, and yet not farther so, 
than the simplicity and purity of the Truth, whereof 
he made profession, would permit him. 
1* 



VI PREFACE. 

I was with our friend, Thomas Ellwood, the greater 
part of his sickness ; in which he was also very fre- 
quently visited by our friend George Bowles, who was 
his neighbour; to whom therefore I refer, for the 
account which he may give of his sickness and dying 
words. 

As it was my good lot to be well acquainted with him, 
(though only in the latter years of his life,) and I know 
that he did neither use nor encourage the bestowing 
elaborate encomiums upon persons deceased ; so neither 
shall I add further concerning him, than to say with 
the apostle, concerning the faithful, " That he was 
righteous, God testifying of his gifts: and by it he 
being dead, yet speaketh." 

J. W. 



London, 
12th of the 2nd month, 1714. 



THE 

HISTOEY OF THE LIFE 



OF 



THOMAS ELLWOOD. 



CHAPTER I. 

1639 — 1658. 

Motives for writing — Birth and parentage — Removal to London — Lady 
Springett and her daughter — Return to Crowell — Sent to School at 
Thame — Early promise in learning — Brought home — Life of idleness — 
Lord Wenman — Adventure with a quarrelsome husbandman — Serious 
reflections on taking human life — Death of mother and brother — Visit 
to I. Penington — Effect of Quaker manners — The young Quaker before 
Justice Ellwood — Another visit to I. Penington's — Meeting at the 
Grove — Family sitting — E. Burrough — J. Nailor — Meeting at High 
Wycombe — Religious exercises and their fruits — Delusion and deliver- 
ance — Visit to Oxford Sessions — Close trial and safe escape — Objections 
urged against the Quakers — Another visit at I. Penington's — Mary 
Penington — Monthly Meeting at Wycombe — Ministry of E. Burrough 
— Honour due to parents — Uses plain language and manners to his 
father. 

Although my station, not being so eminent either 
in the church of Christ, or in the world, as others who 
have moved in higher orbs, may not afford such con- 
siderable remarks as theirs, yet, inasmuch as in the 
course of my travels through this vale of tears, I have 

(7) 



g THE HISTORY OF THE [1639. 

passed through various, and some uncommon exercises, 
which the Lord hath been graciously pleased to sup- 
port me under, and conduct me through, — I hold it a 
matter excusable, at least, if not commendable, to give 
the world some little account of my life, that in re- 
counting the many deliverances and preservations, 
which the Lord hath vouchsafed to work for me, both 
I, by a grateful acknowledgement thereof, and return 
of thanksgivings unto him therefor, may, in some 
measure, set forth his abundant goodness to me ; and 
others, whose lot it may be to tread the same path, 
and fall into the same or like exercises, may be encour- 
aged to persevere in the way of holiness, and with full 
.assurance of mind to trust in the Lord, whatsoever 
trials may befall them. 

To begin therefore with mine own beginning, I was 
born in the year 1639, about the beginning of the 
eighth month, so far as I have been able to inform my- 
self: for the parish register, which relates to the time 
(not of birth, but) of baptism (as they call it) is not 
to be relied on. 

The place of my birth was a little country town, 
called Crowell, situate in the upper side of Oxfordshire, 
three miles eastward from Thame, the nearest market 
town. 

My father's name was Walter Ellwood, and my 
mother's maiden name was Elizabeth Potman; both 
well descended, but of declining families ; so that what 
my father possessed, which was a pretty estate in 
lands, and more, as I have heard in moneys, he re- 



1647.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 9 

ceived (as lie had done his name Walter) from his 
grandfather Walter Gray ; whose daughter, and only 
child, was his mother. 

In my very infancy, when I was but about two years 
old, I was carried to London. For the civil war be- 
tween king and parliament breaking then forth, my 
father, who favoured the parliament side, though he 
took not arms, not holding himself safe at his country 
habitation, which lay too near some garrisons of the 
king's, betook himself to London, that city then hold- 
ing for the parliament. 

There was I bred up, though not without much diffi- 
culty, the city air not agreeing with my tender con- 
stitution ; and there continued, until Oxford was sur- 
rendered, and the war in appearance ended. 

In this time my parents contracted an acquaintance 
and intimate friendship with the Lady Springett, 
w T ho being then the widow of Sir William Springett, 
who died in the parliament service, was afterwards wife 
of Isaac Penington, eldest son of Alderman Penington 
of London. And this friendship devolving from the 
parents to the children, I became an early and particu- 
lar playfellow to her daughter Gulielma; being admitted 
as such to ride with her in the little coach, drawn by 
her footman about Lincoln's Inn Fields. 

I mention this in this place, because the continuation 
of that acquaintance and friendship having been an 
occasional means of my being afterwards brought to 
the knowledge of the blessed truth, I shall have fre- 
quent cause, in the course of the following discourse, 



10 THE HISTORY OF THE [1553, 

to make honourable mention of that family, to which I 
am under so many and great obligations. 

Soon after the surrender of Oxford, my father re- 
turned to his estate at Crowell ; which by that time he- 
might have need enough to look after, having spent, I 
suppose, the greatest part of the moneys which had 
been left him by his grandfather, in maintaining him- 
self and his family at a high rate in London. 

My elder brother, for I had one brother and two 
sisters, all elder than myself, was, while we lived in 
London, boarded at a private school, in the house of 
one Francis Atkinson, at a place called Hadley, near 
Barnet in Hertfordshire; where he had made some 
good proficiency in the Latin and French tongues. 
But after we had left the city, and were re-settled in 
the country, he was taken from that private school, 
and sent to the Free School at Thame in Oxfordshire. 

Thither also was I sent, as soon as my tender age 
would permit : for I was indeed but young when I went, 
and yet seemed younger than I was, by reason of my 
low and little stature. For it was held, for some years, 
a doubtful point whether I should not have proved a 
dwarf. But after I was arrived to the fifteenth year 
of my age (or thereabouts) I began to shoot up, and 
gave not over growing, till I had attained the middle 
size and stature of men. 

At this school, which at that time was in good repu- 
tation, I profited apace ; having then a natural pro- 
pensity to learning ; so that at the first reading over 
of my lesson, I commonly made myself master of it ; 



1655.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. ]_]_ 

and yet (which is strange to think of) few boys in the 
school wore out more birch than L For though I was 
never, that I remember, whipped upon the score of 
not having my lesson ready, or of not saying it well, 
yet being a little busy boy, full of spirit, of a working 
head, and active hand, I could not easily conform my- 
self to the grave and sober rules, and as I then thought 
severe orders of the school ; but was often playing one 
waggish prank or other among my fellow scholars, 
which subjected me to correction, so that I have come 
under the discipline of the rod twice in a forenoon. 
Which yet brake no bones. 

Had I been continued at this school, and in due time 
preferred to a higher, I might in likelihood have been 
a scholar : for I was observed to have a genius apt to 
learn. But my father having, so soon as the republi- 
can government began to settle, accepted the office of 
a justice of the peace, w^hich was no way beneficial, 
but merely honorary and every way expensive, and put 
himself into a port and course of living agreeable 
thereunto, and having also removed my brother from 
Thame-school to Merton College in Oxford, and en- 
tered him there, in the highest and most chargeable 
condition of a fellows-commoner, he found it needful to 
retrench his expenses elsewhere ; the hurt of which fell 
upon me. 

For he thereupon took me from sehool, to save the 
charge of maintaining me there; which was somewhat 
like plucking green fruit from the tree, and laying it 
by, before it was come to its due ripeness ; which will 



12 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658. 

thenceforth shrink and wither, and lose that little juice 
and relish which it began to have. 

Even so it fared with me. For being taken home 
when I was but young, and before I was well settled in 
my studies, (though I had made a good progress in the 
Latin tongue, and was entered in the Greek) being 
left too much to myself, to ply or play with my books 
or without them as I pleased, I soon shook hands with 
my books by shaking my books out of my hands, and 
laying them, by degrees, quite aside ; and addicted my- 
self to such youthful sports and pleasures as the place 
afforded, and my condition could reach unto. 

By this means, in a little time I began to lose that 
little learning I had acquired at school ; and by a con- 
tinued disuse of my books, became at length so utterly 
a stranger to learning, that I could not have read, far 
less have understood, a sentence in Latin. Which I 
was so sensible of, that I warily avoided reading to 
others, even in an English book, lest, if I should meet 
with a Latin word, I should shame myself by mispro- 
nouncing it. Thus I w T ent on, taking my swing in such 
vain courses as were accounted harmless recreations; 
entertaining my companions, and familiar acquaint- 
ance, with pleasant discourses in our conversations, by 
the mere force of mother wit and natural parts, with- 
out the help of school cultivation : and was accounted 
good company too. But I always sorted myself with 
persons of ingenuity, temperance and sobriety: for I 
loathed scurrilities in conversation, and had a natural 
aversion to immoderate drinking. So that in the time 



1658.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 13 

of my greatest vanity, I was preserved from profane- 
ness, and the grosser evils of the world ; which ren- 
dered me acceptable to persons of the best note in that 
country then. 

I often waited on the Lord Wenman, at his house at 
Thame Park, about two miles from Crowell, where I 
lived ; to whose favour I held myself entitled in a two- 
fold respect, both as my mother was nearly related to 
his lady, and as he had been pleased to bestow his 
name upon me, when he made large promises for 
me at the font. He was a person of great honour and 
virtue, and always gave me a kind reception at his 
table, how often soever I came. And I have cause to 
think, I should have received from this lord some ad- 
vantageous preferment in this world, as soon as he had 
found me capable of it, though between him and my 
father there was not then so good an understanding as 
might have been wished, had I not been, in a little time 
after, called into the service of the best and highest 
Lord ; and thereby lost the favour of all my friends, 
relations, and acquaintance of this world. To the ac- 
count of which most happy exchange I hasten, and 
therefore willingly pass over many particularities of my 
youthful life. Yet one passage I am willing to men- 
tion, for the effect it had upon me afterwards : which 
was thus. 

My father being then in the commission of the peace, 

and going to a petty sessions at Watlington, I waited 

on him thither And when we came near the town, 

the coachman seeing a nearer and easier way, than the 

2 



14 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658. 

common road, through, a corn-field, and that it was wide 
enough for the wheels to run, without damaging the 
corn, turned down there. This being observed by a 
husbandman, who was at plough not far off, he ran to 
us, and stopping the coach, poured forth a mouthful of 
complaints, in none of the best language, for driving 
over the corn. My father mildly answered him, that 
if there was any offence committed, he must rather im- 
pute it to his servant, than himself; since he neither 
directed him to drive that way, nor knew which way he 
drove. Yet added, that he was going to such an inn 
at the town : whither if he came, he would make him 
full satisfaction, for whatsoever damage he had sus- 
tained thereby. And so on we went, the man venting 
his discontent, as he went back, in angry accents. At 
the town, upon enquiry, we understood that it was a 
way often used, and without damage, being broad 
enough ; but that it was not the common road, which 
yet lay not far from it, and was also good enough : 
wherefore my father bid his man drive home that way. 
It was late in the evening when we returned, and 
very dark ; and this quarrelsome man, who had troubled 
himself and us in the morning, having gotten another 
lusty fellow, like himself, to assist him, waylaid us in 
the night, expecting we should return the same way we 
came. But when they found we did not, but took the 
common way, they, angry that they were disappointed, 
and loath to lose their purpose, which was to put an 
abuse upon us, coasted over to us in the dark, and lay- 
ing hold on the horses' bridles, stopped them from 






1658.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 15 

going on. My father asking his man, what was the 
reason that he went not on, was answered, that there 
were two men at the horses' heads, who held them back, 
and would not suffer them to go forward. Whereupon 
my father opening the boot, stepped out, and I followed 
close at his heels. Going up to the place where the 
men stood, he demanded of them the reason of this 
assault. They said, we were upon the corn. We knew 
by the ruts, we were not on the corn, but on the 
common way, and told them so. But they told us, 
they were resolved they would not let us go on any 
farther, but would make us go back again. My father 
endeavoured by gentle reasoning to persuade them to 
forbear, and not run themselves farther into the danger 
of the law, which they were run too far into already ; 
but they rather derided him for it. Seeing therefore 
fair means would not work upon them, he spoke more 
roughly to them, charging them to deliver their clubs, 
for each of them had a great club in his hand, some- 
what like those which are called quarter-staves. They 
thereupon, laughing, told him they did not bring them 
thither for that end. Thereupon my father, turning 
his head to me, said, " Tom, disarm them." 

I stood ready at his elbow, waiting only for the word 
of command. For being naturally of a bold spirit, 
full then of youthful heat, and that too heightened by 
the sense I had not only of the abuse, but insolent 
behaviour of those rude fellows, my blood began to 
boil, and my fingers itched, as the saying is, to be 
dealing with them. 



16 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658, 

Wherefore, stepping boldly forward, to lay hold on 
the staff of him that was nearest to me, I said, 
" Sirrah, deliver your weapon." He thereupon raised 
his club, which was large enough to have knocked down 
an ox, intending no doubt to have knocked me down 
with it ; as probably he would have done, had I not, 
in the twinkling of an eye, whipt out my rapier, and 
made a pass upon him. I could not have failed 
running him through up to the hilt, had he stood his 
ground ; but the sudden and unexpected sight of my 
bright blade, glittering in the dark night, did so 
amaze and terrify the man, that slipping aside, he 
avoided my thrust ; and letting his staff sink, took to 
his heels for safety : which his companion seeing, fled 
also. I followed the former as fast as I could : but 
fear gave him wings, and made him swiftly fly : thus 
although I was accounted very nimble, yet the farther 
we ran, the more ground he gained on me ; so that I 
could not overtake him, which made me think he took 
shelter under some bush, which he knew where to find, 
though I did not. 

Meanwhile, the coachman, who had sufficiently the 
outside of a man, excused himself from intermeddling, 
under pretence that he durst not leave his horses ; and 
so left me to shift for myself. And I was gone so far 
beyond my knowledge, that I understood not which 
way to go : till by hallooing, and being hallooed to 
again, I was directed where to find my company. 

We had easy means to have found out who these 
men were, the principal of them having been in the 



1658.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 17 

day-time at the inn, and both quarrelled with the 
coachman, and threatened to be even with him when 
he went back ; but since they came off no better in 
their attempt, my father thought it better not to 
know them, than to oblige himself to a prosecution of 
them. 

At that time, and for a good while after, I had no 
regret upon my mind for what I had done, and 
designed to have done, in this case ; but went on in a 
sort of bravery, resolving to kill, if I could, any man 
that should make the like attempt, or put any affront 
upon us ; and for that reason seldom went afterwards 
upon those public services without a loaded pistol in 
my pocket. But when it pleased the Lord, in his 
infinite goodness, to call me out of the spirit and ways 
of the world, and give me the knowledge of his saving 
truth, whereby the actions of my past life were set in 
order before me, a sort of horror seized on me, when 
I considered how near I had been to staining my 
hands with human blood. And whensoever afterwards 
I went that way, and indeed as often since as the 
matter has come into my remembrance, my soul has 
blessed the Lord for my deliverance ; thanksgivings 
and praises have arisen in my heart, as now at the 
relating of it they do, to Him who preserved and 
withheld me from shedding man's blood. This is the 
reason for which I have given this account of that 
action, that others may be warned by it. 

About this time my dear and honoured mother, who 
was indeed a woman of singular worth and virtue, 
9 * 



18 THE HISTORY OF THE [1658. 

departed this life, having a little before heard of the 
death of her eldest son, who falling under the dis- 
pleasure of my father, for refusing to resign his interest 
in an estate which my father sold, and thereupon 
desiring that he might have leave to travel, in hopes 
that time and absence might work a reconciliation, 
went into Ireland with a person powerful there in 
those times, by whose means he was quickly preferred 
to a place of trust and profit ; but lived not long to 
enjoy it. 

I mentioned before, that during my father's abode 
in London, in the time of the civil wars, he contracted 
a friendship with the Lady Springett, then a widow, 
and afterwards married to Isaac Penington,- Esq., to 
continue which he sometimes visited them at their 
country lodgings, as at Datchet, and at Causham 
Lodge near Reading. 

Having heard that they were come to live upon 
their own estate at Chalfont, in Buckinghamshire, 
about fifteen miles from Crowell, he went one day to 
visit them there, and return at night, taking me with 
him. 

But very much surprised we were, when being come 
thither, we first heard, then found, they w T ere become 
Quakers, a people we had no knowledge of, and a 
name we had till then scarcely heard of. So great a 
change, from a free, debonair, and courtly sort of 
behaviour, which we formerly had found them in, to so 
strict a gravity as they now received us with, did not 
a little amuse us, and disappoint our expectation of 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 19 

such a pleasant visit as we used to have, and had now 
promised ourselves. Nor could my father have any 
opportunity, by a private conference with them, to 
understand the ground or occasion of this change; 
there being some other strangers with them, related to 
Isaac Penington, who came that morning from London 
to visit them also. 

For my part I sought, and at length found, means 
to cast myself into the company of the daughter, 
whom I found gathering some flowers in the garden, 
attended by her maid, who was also a Quaker. But 
when I addressed myself to her, after my accustomed 
manner, with intention to engage her in some dis- 
course, which might introduce conversation on the 
foot of our former acquaintance — though she treated 
me with a courteous mien, yet, young as she was, the 
gravity of her look and behaviour struck such an awe 
upon me, that I found myself not so much master of 
myself as to pursue any further converse with h'er. 
Wherefore asking pardon for my boldness, in having 
intruded into her private walks, I withdrew, not without 
some disorder (as I thought at least) of mind. 

We stayed dinner, which was very handsome, and 
lacked nothing to recommend it to me, but the want 
of mirth and pleasant discourse ; which we could 
neither have with them, nor, by reason of them, with 
one another among ourselves, the weightiness which 
was upon their spirits and countenances, keeping down 
the lightness that would have been up in us. We 
stayed, notwithstanding, till the rest of the company 



20 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

took leave of them, and then we also, doing the same, 
returned, not greatly satisfied with our journey, nor 
knowing what in particular to find fault w T ith. Yet 
this good effect that visit had upon my father, who was 
then in the commission for the peace, that it disposed 
him to a more favorable opinion of and carriage 
towards those people, when they came in his way, as 
not long after one of them did. For a young man, 
who lived in Buckinghamshire, came on a first-day to 
the church (so called) at the town of Chinner, a mile 
from Crowell, having it seems a pressure on his mind, 
to say something to the minister of that parish. He 
being an acquaintance of mine, drew me sometimes to 
hear him, as it did then. The young man stood in the 
aisle before the pulpit all the time of the sermon, not 
speaking a word till the sermon and prayer after it 
were ended ; and then spake a few words to the priest : 
of which all that I could hear was, " That the prayer 
of the wicked is abomination to the Lord, and that God 
heareth not sinners.' ' Somewhat more I think he did 
say, which I could not distinctly hear for the noise the 
people made ; and more probably he would have said, 
had he not been interrupted by the officers, who took 
him into custody, and led him out in order to carry 
him before my father. 

When I understood that, I hastened home, that I 
might give my father a fair account of the matter 
before they came. I told him the young man behaved 
himself quietly and peaceably, spake not a word till 
the minister had quite done his service ; and that what 



1659.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 21 

lie then spake was but short, and was delivered without 
passion or ill language. This I knew would furnish 
my father with a fair ground whereon to discharge the 
man if he would. 

And accordingly when they came, and made an high 
complaint against the man, who said little for himself, 
my father having examined the officers who brought 
him, what were the words that he spake, (which they 
did not well agree in) and at what time he spake them, 
(which they all agreed to be after the minister had 
done,) and then, whether he gave the minister any 
reviling language, or endeavoured to raise a tumult 
among the people, (which they could not charge him 
with;) — not finding that he had broken the law, he 
counselled the young man to be careful that he did 
not make or occasion any public disturbances, and so 
dismissed him : which I was glad of. 

Some time after this, my father having received 
some further account of the people called Quakers, 
and being desirous to be informed concerning their 
principles, made another visit to Isaac Penington and 
his wife, at their house called the Grange, in Peter's 
Chalfont ; and took both my sisters and me with him. 

It was in the tenth month, in the year 1659, that 
we went thither, where we found a very kind reception, 
and tarried some days ; one day at least the longer, 
for that, while we were there, a meeting was appointed 
at a place about a mile from thence, to which we were 
invited to go, and willingly went. 

It was held in a farm-house called the Grove, which 



22 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

having formerly been a gentleman's seat, had a very 
large hall, and that well filled. To this meeting camb 
Edward Burrough, besides other preachers, as Thomas 
Curtis and James Naylor ; but none spake there at 
that time but Edward Burrough. Next to whom, as 
it were under him, it was my lot to sit on a stool, by 
the side of a long table on which he sat ; and I drank 
in his words with desire, for they not only answered 
my understanding, but warmed my heart with a certain 
heat, which I had not till then felt from the ministry 
of any man. When the meeting was ended, our friends 
took us home with them again ; and after supper, the 
evenings being long, the servants of the family, who 
w T ere Quakers, were called in, and we all sat down in 
silence. But long we had not so sat, before Edward 
Burrough began to speak among us. And although 
he spake not long, yet what he said did touch, as I 
suppose, my father's religious copyhold, as the phrase 
is. And he having been from his youth a professor, 
though not joined in that which is called close com- 
munion with any one sort, and valuing himself upon 
the knowledge he esteemed himself to have in the 
various notions of each profession, thought he had now 
a fair opportunity to display his knowledge, and there- 
upon began to make objections against what had been 
delivered. 

The subject of the discourse was, " The universal 
free grace of God to all mankind." To which my 
father opposed the Calvinistical tenet of particular and 
personal predestination. In defence of this indefen- 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 23 

sible notion, he found himself more at a loss than he 
expected. Edward Burrough said not much to him 
upon it, though what he said was close and cogent ; 
but James Naylor interposing, handled the subject with 
so much perspicuity and clear demonstration, that his 
reasoning seemed to be irresistible ; and so I suppose 
my father found it, which made him willing to drop the 
discourse. 

As for Edward Burrough, he was a brisk young man, 
of a ready tongue, and might have been for aught I 
then knew a scholar, which made me the less to 
admire his way of reasoning. But what dropped from 
James Naylor had. the greater force upon me, because 
he looked but like a plain, simple countryman, having 
the appearance of an husbandman or a shepherd. As 
my father was not able to maintain the argument on 
his side, so neither did they seem willing to drive it to 
an extremity on their side. But treating him in a 
soft and gentle manner, they after a while let fall the 
discourse ; and then we withdrew to our respective 
chambers. 

The next morning we prepared to return home, that 
is, my father, my younger sister, and myself, for my 
elder sister was gone before by the stage-coach to 
London ; and when, having taken our leaves of our 
friends, we went forth, they, with Edward Burrough, 
accompanying us to the gate, he there directed his 
speech in a few words to each of us severally, accord- 
ing to the sense he had of our several conditions. 
And when we were gone off, and they gone in again, 



04 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

they asking him what he thought of us, he answered 
them, as they afterwards told me, to this effect : "As 
for the old man, he is settled on his lees ; and the 
young woman is light and airy; but the young man is 
reached, and may do well if he does not lose it." And 
surely that which he said to me, or rather that spirit 
in which he spake it, took such fast hold on me that I 
felt sadness and trouble come over me, though I did 
not distinctly understand whatT was troubled for. I 
knew not what I ailed, but I knew I ailed something 
more than ordinary, and my heart was very heavy. I 
found it was not so with my father and sister; for as I 
rode after the coach, I could hear them talk pleasantly 
one to the other; but they could not discern how it 
was with me, because I, riding on horseback, kept 
much out of sight. 

By the time we got home it was night. The next 
day, being the first day of the week, I went in the 
afternoon to hear the minister of Chinner; and this 
was the last time I ever went to hear any of that func- 
tion. After the sermon I went with him to his house, 
and in a freedom of discourse, which, from a certain 
intimacy that was between us, I commonly used w T ith 
him, told him wdiere I had been, what company I had 
met with there, and what observations I had made to 
myself thereupon. But he seemed to understand as 
little of them as I had done before, and civilly ab- 
stained from casting any unhandsome reflections on 
them. 

I had a desire to go to another meeting of the 



1659.1 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 25 

Quakers, and bid my father's man enquire if there was 
any in the country thereabouts. He thereupon told me 
he had heard at Isaac Penington's, there was to be a 
meeting at High Wycombe on Thursday next. Thither 
therefore I went, though it was seven miles from me. 
And that I might be rather thought to go out a cour- 
sing than to a meeting, I let my greyhound run by my 
horse's side. When I came there, and had put up my 
horse at an inn, I was at a loss how to find the house 
where the meeting was. to be. I knew it not, and was 
ashamed to ask after it ; wherefore having ordered the 
hostler to take care of my dog, I went into the street, 
and stood at the inn gate, musing with myself what 
course to take. But I had not stood long ere I saw a 
horseman riding along the street, whom I remembered 
having seen before at Isaac Penington's ; and he put 
up his horse at the same inn. Him therefore I re- 
solved to follow, supposing he was going to the meet- 
ing, as indeed he was. Being come to the house, 
which proved to be John Baunce's, I saw the people 
sitting together in an outer room ; wherefore I stepped 
in and sat down on the first void seat, the end of a 
bench just within the door, having my sword by my 
side, and black clothes on, which drew some eyes upon 
me. It was not long ere one stood up and spake, whom 
I was afterwards well acquainted with ; his name was 
Samuel Thornton, and what he spake was very suit- 
able, and of good service to me, for it reached home as 
if it had been directed to me. 

As soon as ever the meeting was ended, and the 
3 



26 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659 

people began to rise, I being next the door stepped out 
quickly, and hastening to my inn, took horse imme- 
diately homewards ; and, so far as I remember, my 
having been gone was not taken notice of by my 
father. 

This latter meeting was like the clinching of a nail, 
confirming and fastening in my mind those good prin- 
ciples which had sunk into me at the former. My 
understanding began to open, and I felt some stirrings 
in my breast, tending to the work of a new creation in 
me. The general trouble and confusion of mind which 
had for some days laid heavy upon me, and pressed me 
down without a distinct discovery of the particular 
cause for which it came, began now to wear off; and 
some glimmerings of Light began to break forth in me, 
which let me see my inward state and condition to- 
wards God. The Light, which before had shone in my 
darkness, and the darkness could not comprehend it, 
began now to shine out of darkness, and in some mea- 
sure discovered to me what it was that had before 
clouded me, and brought that sadness and trouble upon 
me. And now I saw, that although I had been in a 
great degree preserved from the common immoralities 
and gross pollutions of the world, yet the spirit of the 
world had hitherto ruled in me, and led me into pride, 
flattery, vanity, and superfluity, all which was naught. 
I found there were many plants growing in me which 
were not of the Heavenly Father's planting, and that 
all these, of whatever sort or kind they were, or how 
specious soever they might appear, must be plucked up. 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 27 

Now was all my former life ripped up, and my sins 
by degrees were set in order before me. And though 
they looked not with so black a hue and so deep a dye 
as those of the lewdest sort of people did, yet I found 
that all sin, even that which had the fairest or finest 
shew, as well as that which was more coarse and foul, 
brought guilt, and with and for guilt, condemnation on 
the soul that sinned. This I felt, and was greatly 
bowed down under the sense thereof. Now also did I 
receive a new law, (an inward law superadded to the 
outward) the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus, 
which wrought in me against all evil, not only in deed, 
and in word, but even in thought also ; so that every- 
thing was brought to judgment, and judgment passed 
upon all. So that I could not any longer. go on in my 
former ways, and course of life, for when I did, judg 
ment took hold upon me for it. Thus the Lord was 
graciously pleased to deal with me, in somewhat like 
manner as he had dealt with his people Israel of old, 
when they had transgressed his righteous law ; whom 
by his prophet he called back, and required to put 
away the evil of their doings, bidding them first cease 
to do evil, then learn to do well, before he would admit 
them to reason w T ith him, and before he would impart 
to them the effects of his free mercy. (Isaiah i. 
16, 17.) 

I was now required by this inward and spiritual law 
(the law of the spirit of life in Christ Jesus) to put 
away the evil of my doings, and to cease to do evil. 
And what in particular was the evil which I was re- 



28 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

quired to put away and cease from, that measure of the 
divine Light, which was now manifested in me, dis- 
covered to me ; and what the Light made manifest to 
be evil, judgment passed upon. 

So that here began to be a way cast up before me 
for me to walk in ; a direct and plain way, so plain 
that a wayfaring man, how weak and simple soever, 
though a fool to the wisdom and in the judgment of 
the world, could not err while he continued to walk in 
it ; the error coming in by his going out of it. And 
this way with respect to me I saw was that measure of 
divine Light which was manifested in me, by which the 
evil of my doings, which I was to put away and to 
cease from, was discovered to me. By this divine Light 
then I saw, that though I had not the evil of the com- 
mon uncleanness, debauchery, profaneness, and pollu- 
tions of the world to put away, because I had, through 
the goodness of God, and a civil education, been pre- 
served out of those grosser evils, yet I had many other 
evils to put aw T ay and to cease from ; some of which 
were not by the world, w^hich lies in wickedness, ac- 
counted evils ; but by the Light of Christ were made 
manifest to me to be evils, and as such condemned in 
me,. As particularly, those fruits and effects of pride, 
that discover themselves in the vanity and superfluity 
of apparel, which I, as far as my ability would extend 
to, took, alas ! too much delight in. This evil of my 
doings I w T as required to put away and cease from, and 
judgment lay upon me till I did so. Wherefore, in 
obedience to the inward law, which agreed with the 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 29 

outward, I took off from my apparel those unnecessary 
trimmings of lace, ribands, and useless buttons, which 
had no real service, but were set on only for that which 
was by mistake called ornament ; and I ceased to wear 
rings. 

Again: the giving of flattering titles to men, be- 
tween whom and me there was not any relation to 
which such titles could be pretended to belong. This 
was an evil I had been much addicted to, and was ac- 
counted a ready artist in : therefore this evil also was 
I required to put away and cease from. So that 
thenceforward I durst not say, Sir, Master, My Lord, 
Madam, (or My Dame) or say Your Servant, to any 
one to whom I did not stand in the real relation of a 
servant, which I have never done to any. 

Again : respect of persons, in uncovering the head, 
and bowing the knee or body in salutations, was a 
practice I had been much in the use of. And this 
being one of the vain customs of the world, introduced 
by the spirit of the world instead of the true honour, 
which this is a false representation of, and used in 
deceit, as a token of respect, by persons one to an- 
other, who bear no real respect one to another ; and 
besides, this being a type and proper emblem of that 
divine honour which all ought to pay to Almighty God, 
and which all, of all sorts, who take upon them the 
Christian name, appear in when they offer their pray- 
ers to him, and therefore should not be given to men. 
I found this to be one of those evils, which I had been 
3* 



30 THEHISTORYOFTHE [1659. 

too long doing : therefore I was now required to put it 
away, and cease from it. 

Again : the corrupt and unsound form of speaking 
in the plural number to a single person, You to one, in- 
stead of Thou, contrary to the pure, plain, and single 
language of truth, Thou to one, and You to more than 
one, which had always been used by God to men, and 
men to God, as well as one to another, from the oldest 
record of time, till corrupt men, for corrupt ends, in 
later ami corrupt times, to flatter, fawn, and work upon 
the corrupt nature in men, brought in that false and 
senseless way of speaking, You to one ; which hath 
since corrupted the modern languages, and hath greatly 
debased the spirits and depraved the manners of men. 
This evil custom I had been as forward in as others, 
and this I was now called out of, and required to cease 
from. 

These, and many more evil customs, which had 
sprung up in the night of darkness and general apos- 
tasy from the truth and true religion, were now by the 
in-shining of this pure ray of divine Light in my con- 
science, gradually discovered to me to be what I ought 
to cease from, shun, and stand a witness against. 

But so subtilly, and withal so powerfully did the 
Enemy work upon the weak part in me, as to persuade 
me that in these things I ought to make a difference 
between my father and all other men ; and that there- 
fore, though I did disuse these tokens of respect to 
others, yet I ought still to use them towards him, as he 
was my father. And so far did this wile of his prevail 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 31 

upon Hie, through a fear lest I should do amiss, in with- 
drawing any sort of respect or honour from my father, 
which was due unto him, that being thereby beguiled, I 
continued for a while to demean myself in the same 
manner towards him, with respect both to language 
and gesture, as I had always done before. And so 
long as I did so, standing bare before him, and giving 
him the accustomed language, he did not express, what- 
ever he thought, any dislike of me. 

But as to myself, and the work begun in me, I found 
it was not enough for me to cease to do evil, though 
that was a good and great step. I had another lesson 
before me, which was to learn to do well ; which I could 
by no means do, till I had given up, with full purpose 
of mind, to cease from doing evil. And when I had 
done that, the Enemy took advantage of my weakness 
to mislead me again. For whereas I ought to have 
waited in the Light, for direction and guidance into 
and in the way of well-doing, and not to have moved 
till the divine Spirit, (a manifestation of which the 
Lord had been pleased to give unto me, for me to profit 
with or by) the Enemy transforming himself into the 
appearance of an angel of light, offered himself in that 
appearance, to be my guide and leader into the per- 
formance of religious exercises. And I, not then know- 
ing the wiles of Satan, and being eager to be doing 
some acceptable service to God, too readily yielded my- 
self to the conduct of my enemy, instead of my friend. 

He thereupon, humouring the warmth and zeal of my 
spirit, put me upon religious performances in my own 



32 THE HISTORY OF THE [165* 

will, in my own time, and in my own strength; which 
in themselves were good, and would have been profit- 
able unto me, and acceptable unto the Lord, if they 
had been performed in his will, in his time, and in the 
ability which he gives. But being wrought in the will 
of man, and at the prompting of the Evil One, no 
wonder that it did me hurt instead of good. 

I read abundantly in the Bible, and would set my- 
self tasks in reading ; enjoining myself to read so many 
chapters, sometimes a whole book, or long epistle, at a 
time. And I thought that time well spent, though I 
was not much wiser for what I had read, reading it too 
cursorily, and without the true guide, the Holy Spirit, 
which alone could open the understanding, and give 
the true sense of what was read. I prayed often, and 
drew out my prayers to a great length ; and appointed 
unto myself certain set times to pray at, and a certain 
number of prayers to say in a day ; knowing not, mean- 
while, what true prayer was. This stands not in words, 
though the words which are uttered in the movings of 
the Holy Spirit, are very available ; but in the breath- 
ing of the soul to the Heavenly Father, through the 
operation of the Holy Spirit, who maketh intercession 
sometimes in words, and sometimes with sighs and 
groans only, which the Lord vouchsafes to hear and 
answer. 

This will-worship, which all is that is performed in 
the will of man, and not in the movings of the Holy 
Spirit, was a great hurt to me, and hinderance of my 
spiritual growth in the way of truth. But my Hea* 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 33 

venly Fa, her, who knew the sincerity of my soul to 
him, and the hearty desire I had to serve him, had 
compassion on me ; and in due time was graciously 
pleased to illuminate my understanding further, and to 
open in me an eye to disoern the false spirit, and its 
way of working, from the true ; and to reject the 
former, and cleave to the latter. 

But though the Enemy had by his subtlety gained 
such advantages over me, yet I w T ent on notwithstand- 
ing, and firmly persisted in my godly resolution of 
ceasing from and denying those things w^hich I was now 
convinced in my conscience were evil. And on this 
account a great trial came quickly on me. For the 
general quarter sessions for the peace coming on, my 
father, willing to excuse himself from a dirty journey, 
commanded me to get up betimes, and go to Oxford, 
and deliver in the recognisances he had taken ; and 
bring him an account what justices were on the bench, 
and what principal pleas were before them ; which he 
knew I knew how to do, having often attended him on 
those services. 

I, who knew how it stood with me better than he 
did, felt a weight come over me as soon as he had 
spoken the word. For I presently saw, it would bring 
a very great exercise upon me. But having never re- 
sisted his will in any thing that was lawful, as this was, 
I attempted not to make any excuse, but ordering a 
horse to be ready for me early in the morning, 1 went 
to bed, having great stragglings in my breast. 

For the Enemy came in upon me like a flood, and set 



34 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659, 

many difficulties before me, swelling them up to the 
highest pitch, by representing them as mountains, 
which I should never be able to get over ; and alas ! 
that faitli which could remove such mountains, and 
cast them into the sea, was but very small and weak in 
me. He cast into my mind not only how I should 
behave myself in the court, and dispatch the business 
I was sent about, but how I should demean myself to- 
wards my acquaintance, of which I bad many in that 
city, with whom I was wont to be jolly ; whereas now 
I could not put off my hat, nor bow to any of them, 
nor give them their honorary titles, as they are called, 
nor use the corrupt language of You to any one of 
them, but must keep to the plain and true language of 
Thou and Thee. 

Much of this nature revolved in my mind, thrown in 
by the Enemy, to discourage and cast me down : and 
I had none to have recourse to for counsel or help, but 
the Lord alone. To whom therefore I poured forth 
my supplications, with earnest cries and breathings of 
soul, that He, in whom all power was, would enable me 
to go through this great exercise, and keep me faithful 
to himself therein. . And after some time, he was 
pleased to compose my mind to stillness ; and I went 
to rest. 

Early next morning I got up, and found my spirit 
pretty calm and quiet, yet not without a fear upon me, 
lest I should slip, and let fall the testimony which I had 
to bear. And as I rode, a frequent cry ran through 
me to the Lord, on this wise: my God, preserve me 



1659.1 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 35 

faithful, whatever befalls me ! suffer me not to be drawn 
into evil, how much scorn and contempt soever may be 
cast upon me ! 

Thus was my spirit exercised on the way almost 
continually. And when I was within a mile or two 
of the city, whom should I meet upon the way coming 
from thence, but Edward Burrough. I rode in a moun- 
tier-cap, a dress more used then than now, and so did 
he ; and because the weather was exceedingly sharp, 
we both had drawn our caps down to shelter our faces 
from the cold, and by that means neither of us knew 
the other, but passed by without taking notice one of 
the other ; till a few days after, meeting again, and ob- 
serving each other's dress, we recollected where we had 
so lately met. Then thought I with myself, Oh ! how 
glad should I have been of a word of encouragement 
and counsel from him, when I was under that weighty 
exercise of mind ; but the Lord saw it was not good 
for me ; that my reliance might be wholly upon him, 
and not on man. 

When I had set up my horse, I went directly to the 
hall where the sessions were held ; where I had been 
but a very little while, before a knot of my old ac- 
quaintances espying me, came to me. One of these 
was a scholar in his gown, another a surgeon of that 
city, both my schoolfellows and fellow-boarders at 
Thame-school, and the third a country gentleman, with 
whom I had long been very familiar. When they were 
come up to me, they all saluted me after the usual 
manner, putting off their hats and bowing, and saying, 



36 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

" Your humble servant, Sir," expecting, no doubt, the 
like from me. But when they saw me stand still, not 
moving my cap, nor bowing my knee in the way of 
congee to them, they were amazed, and looked first one 
upon another, then upon me, and then one upon an- 
other again for a while, without speaking a word. At 
length the surgeon, a brisk young man, who stood near- 
est to me, clapping his hand in a familiar way upon 
my shoulder, and smiling on me, said, " What, Tom, a 
Quaker !" To which I readily and cheerfully an- 
swered, " Yes, a Quaker." And as the words passed 
out of my mouth, I felt joy spring in my heart ; for I 
rejoiced that I had not been drawn out by them, into a 
compliance with them, and that I had strength and 
boldness given me, to confess myself to be one of that 
despised people. They stayed not long with me, nor 
said more, that I remember, to me ; but looking some- 
what confusedly one upon another, after a while took 
their leave of me, going off in the same ceremonious 
manner as they came on. 

After they were gone, I walked a while about the 
hall, and went up nearer to the court, to observe both 
what justices were on the bench, and what business 
they had before them. And I went in fear, not of 
what they could or would have done to me, if they 
should have taken notice of me, but lest I should be 
surprised, and drawn unwarily into that which I was 
to keep out of. 

It was not long before the court adjourned to go to 
dinner, and that time I took to go to the clerk of the 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 37 

peace at his house, with whom I was well acquainted. 
So soon as I came into the room where he was, he came 
and met me, and saluted me after his manner ; for he 
had a great respect for my father, and a kind regard 
for me. And though he was at first somewhat startled 
at my carriage and language, yet he treated me very 
civilly, without any reflection or show of lightness. I 
delivered him the recognisances which my father had 
sent ; and having done the business I came upon, with- 
drew, and went to my inn to refresh myself, and then 
to return home. 

But when I was ready to take horse, looking out 
into the street, I saw two or three justices standing 
just in the way where I was to ride. This brought a- 
fresh concern upon me. I knew if they saw me they 
would know me ; and I concluded, if they knew me, 
they would stop me to enquire after my father ; and I 
doubted how I should come off with them. This 
doubting brought weakness on me ; and that weakness 
led to contrivance, how I might avoid this trial. I 
knew the city pretty well, and remembered there was 
a back way, which though somewhat about, would 
bring me out of town, without passing by those 
justices ; yet loth I was to go that way. Wherefore 
I stayed a pretty time, in hopes they would have 
parted company, or removed to some other place out 
of my way. But when I had waited till I w T as uneasy 
for losing so much time, having entered into reason- 
ings with flesh and blood, the weakness prevailed over 
me, and away I w T ent the back way ; which brought 
4 



38 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

trouble and grief upon my spirit for having shunned 
the cross. 

But the Lord looked on me with a tender eye ; and 
seeing my heart was right to him, and that what I 
had done was merely through weakness and fear of 
falling, and that I was sensible of my failing therein, 
and sorry for it, he was graciously pleased to pass it 
by, and speak peace to me again. So that before I 
got home, as when I went in the morning, my heart 
was full of breathing prayer to the Lord, that he 
would vouchsafe to be with me, and uphold and carry 
me through that day's exercise ; so now at my return 
in the evening, my heart was full of thankful acknow- 
ledgments, and praises unto him, for his great goodness 
and favour to me, in having thus far preserved and 
kept me from falling into anything that might have 
brought dishonour to his holy name, which I had now 
taken on me. 

But notwithstanding that it was thus with me, and 
that I found peace and acceptance with the Lord in 
some good degree, according to my obedience to the 
convictions I had received by his Holy Spirit in me, 
yet w r as not the veil so done away, or fully rent, but 
that there remained a cloud upon my understand- 
ing, with respect to my carriage towards my father. 
And that notion which the Enemy had brought into 
my mind, did yet prevail with me, namely, that 1 
ought to put such a difference between him and all 
others, as that, on the account of paternal relation, 
I should still deport myself towards him, both in 



1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 39 

gesture and language, as I had always heretofore done. 
So that when I came home, I went to my father bare- 
headed, as I used to do, and gave him a particular 
account of the business he had given me in command, 
in such manner, that he, observing no alteration in my 
carriage towards him, found no cause to take offence 
at me. 

I had felt for some time before an earnest desire of 
mind to go again to Isaac Penington's. And I began 
to question whether, when my father should come (as I 
concluded ere long he would) to understand I inclined 
to settle among the people called Quakers, he would 
permit me the command of his horses, as before. 
Wherefore, in the morning, when I went to Oxford, I 
gave direction to a servant of his, to go that day to a 
gentleman of my acquaintance, who I knew had a 
riding nag to put off either by sale, or to be kept for 
his work, and desire him, in my name, to send him to 
to me, which he did, and I found him in the stable 
when I came home. 

On this nag I designed to ride next day to Isaac 
Penington's, and in order thereunto arose betimes and 
got myself ready for the journey ; but because I would 
pay all due respect to my father, and not go without 
his consent, or knowledge at the least, I sent one up 
to him (for he was not yet stirring) to acquaint him, 
that I had a purpose to go to Isaac Penington's, and 
desired to know if he pleased to command me any 
service to them. He sent me word, he would speaK 



40 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659 

with me before I went, and would have me come up to 
him, which I did, and stood by his bed-side. 

Then, in a mild and gentle tone, he said, " I under- 
stand you have a mind to go to Mr. Penington's." I 
answered, "I have so." "Why," said he, "I wonder 
why you should. You were there, you know, but a 
few days ago ; and unless you had business with them, 
don't you think it will look oddly?" I said, I thought 
not. "I doubt," said he, " You'll tire them with 
your company, and make them think they shall be 
troubled with you." "If," replied I, "I find any- 
thing of that, I'll make the shorter stay." "But," 
said he, "can you propose any sort of business with 
them, more than a mere visit?" "Yes," said I, "I 
propose to myself not only to see them, but to have 
some discourse with them." "Why," said he, in a 
tone a little harsher, " I hope you don't incline to be 
of their way." "Truly," answered I, "I like them 
and their way very well, so far as I yet understand it ; 
and I am willing to go to them, that I may understand 
it better." 

Thereupon he began to reckon up a bead-roll of 
faults against the Quakers ; telling me they were a 
rude, unmannerly people, that would not give civil 
respect or honour to their superiors, no, not to 
magistrates ; that they held many dangerous principles ; 
that they were an immodest, shameless people ; and 
that one of them stripped himself stark naked, and 
went in that, unseemly manner about the streets, at 
fairs and on market days, in great towns. 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 41 

To all the other charges I answered only, that per- 
haps they might be either misreported or misunder- 
stood, as the best of people had sometimes been. But 
to the last charge of going naked, a particular answer, 
by way of instance, was just then brought into my 
mind, and put into my mouth, which I had not thought 
of before ; and that was the example of Isaiah, who 
went naked among the people for a long time. (Isaiah 
xx. 4.) "Aye," said my father, "but you must con- 
sider that he was a prophet of the Lord, and had an 
express command from God to go so." u Yes, Sir," 
replied I, " I do consider that ; but I consider also, 
that the Jews, among whom he lived, did not own him 
for a prophet, nor believe that that he had such a com- 
mand from God." "And," added I, "how know we 
but that this Quaker may be a prophet too, and might 
be commanded to do as he did, for some reason which 
we understand not?" 

This put my father to a stand ; so that letting fall 
his charges against the Quakers, he only said, " I 
would wish you not to go so soon, but take a little time 
to consider of it ; you may visit Mr. Penington here- 
after." " Nay, Sir," replied I, " pray don't hinder my 
going now, for I have so strong a desire to go, that I 
do not well know how to forbear." And as I spake 
those words, I withdrew gently to the chamber door, 
and then hastening down stairs, went immediately to 
the stable, where, finding my horse ready bridled, I 
forthwith mounted, and went off, lest I should receive 

a countermand. 
4 * 



42 THE HISTORY OF THE [1655. 

This discourse with my father had cast me somewhat 
back in my journey ; and it being fifteen long miles 
thither, the ways bad, and my nag but small, it was in 
the afternoon that I got thither. And understanding 
by the servant who took my horse, that there was then 
a meeting in the house, (as there was weekly on that 
day, w T hich was the fourth day of the week, though I 
till then understood it not) I hastened in ; and know- 
ing the rooms, went directly to the little parlour, where 
I found a few friends sitting together in silence ; and I 
sat down among them well satisfied, though without 
words. 

When the meeting was ended, and those of the 
company who were strangers withdrawn, I addressed 
myself to Isaac Penington and his w T ife, who received 
me courteously ; but not knowing what exercises I had 
been in, and yet was under, nor having heard anything 
of me since I had been there before in another garb, 
they were not forward at first to lay sudden hands on 
me, which I observed, and did not dislike. But as they 
came to see a change in me, not in habit only, but in 
gesture, speech, and carriage, and which was more, in 
countenance also, for the exercise I had passed through, 
and yet was under, had imprinted a visible character 
of gravity upon my face, they were exceedingly kind 
and tender towards me. 

There was then in the family a Friend, whose name 
was Anne Curtis, the wife of Thomas Curtis of Read- 
ing, who was come upon a visit to them, and particu- 
larly to see Mary Penington's daughter Guli, who had 






1659.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD 43 

been ill of the small-pox since I bad been there before. 
Betwixt Mary Penington and this Friend I observed 
some private discourse and whisperings, and had an 
apprehension that it was upon something that concerned 
me. Therefore I took the freedom to ask Mary Pen- 
ington if my coming thither had occasioned any incon- 
venience in the family. She asked me if I had had 
the small-pox. I told her no. She then told me her 
daughter had newly had them, and though she was well 
recovered of them, she had not as yet been down 
amongst them, but intended to have come down and 
sat with them in the parlour that evening, yet would 
rather forbear till another time, than endanger me : and 
that that was the matter they had been discoursing of. 
I assured her, that I had always been, and then more 
especially was, free from any apprehension of danger 
in that respect, and therefore entreated that her 
daughter might come down. And although they were 
somewhat unwilling to yield to it, in regard of me, yet 
my importunity prevailed, and after supper she did 
come down and sit with us, and though the marks of 
the distemper were fresh upon her, yet they made no 
impression upon me, faith keeping out fear. 

We spent much of the evening in retiredness of 
mind, our spirits being weightily gathered inward, so 
that not much discourse passed among us; neither they 
to me, nor I to them offered any occasion. Yet I had 
good satisfaction in that stillness, feeling my spirit 
drawn near to the Lord, and to them therein. 

Before I went to bed, they let me know that there 



^4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

was to be a meeting at Wycombe next day. and that 
some of the family would go to it. I w T as very glad 
of it, for I greatly desired to go to meetings, and this 
fell very aptly, it being in my way home. Next morn- 
ing Isaac Penington himself went, having Anne Curtis 
with him : and I accompanied them. 

At Wycombe we met with Edward Burrough, who 
came from Oxford thither, the day that I, going thither, 
met him on the way; and having both our mountier- 
caps on, we recollected that we had met, and passed by 
each other on the road unknown. 

This was a Monthly meeting, consisting of Friends 
chiefly, who gathered to it from several parts of the 
country thereabouts, so that it was pretty large, and 
was held in a fair room in Jeremiah Stevens' house ; 
the room where I had been at a meeting before in John 
Raunce's house being too little to receive us. A very 
good meeting was this in itself and to me. Edward 
Burrough's ministry came forth among us in life and 
pow T er, and the assembly was covered therewith. I 
also, according to my small capacity, had a share 
therein ; for I felt some of that divine power working 
my spirit into a great tenderness, and not only con- 
firming me in the course I had already entered, and 
strengthening me to go on therein, but also rending the 
veil somewhat further, and clearing my understanding 
in some other things which I had not seen before. 
For the Lord was pleased to make his discoveries to 
me by degrees, that the sight of too great a work, and 
too many enemies to encounter at once, might not dis< 



J659.j LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD 45 

courage me, and make me faint. When the meeting 
was ended, the Friends of the town, taking notice that 
I was the man who had been at their meeting the w r eek 
before, whom they then did not know, some of them 
came and spake lovingly to me, and would have had 
me stay with them, but Edward Burrough going home 
with Isaac Penington, he invited me to go back with 
him, to which I willingly consented. For the love I 
had more particularly to Edward Burrough, through 
whose ministry I had received the first awakening 
stroke, drew me to desire his company ; and so away 
we rode together. 

Yet I was somewhat disappointed of my expecta- 
tion ; for I hoped he would have given me both 
opportunity and encouragement to have opened myself 
to him, and to have poured forth my complaints, fears, 
doubts, and questionings into his bosom. But he, 
being sensible that I was truly reached, and that the 
witness of God was raised, and the work of God 
rightly begun in me, chose to leave me to the guidance 
of the Good Spirit in myself, the Counsellor that 
could resolve all doubts, that I might not have anv 
dependence on man. Wherefore, although he was 
naturally of an open and free temper and carriage, 
and was afterwards always very familiar and affection- 
ately kind to me, yet at this time he kept himself 
somewhat reserved, and show T ed only common kindness 
to me. 

Next day we parted, he for London, I home, undei 
a very great weight and exercise upon my spirit 



4Q THE HISTORY OF THE [1659 

For I now saw, in and by the farther openings of 
the divine Light in me, that the Enemy by his false 
reasonings had beguiled and misled me, with respect 
to my carriage towards my father. For I now clearly 
saw, that the honour due to parents did not consist in 
uncovering the head, and bowing the body to them, 
but in a ready obedience to their lawful commands, 
and in performing all needful services unto them. 
Wherefore, as I was greatly troubled for what* I 
already had done in that case, though it was through 
ignorance, so I plainly felt I could no longer continue 
therein, without drawing on myself the guilt of wilful 
disobedience, which I well knew would draw after it 
divine displeasure and judgment. 

Hereupon the Enemy assaulted me afresh, setting 
before me the danger I should run myself into of 
provoking my father to use severity towards me ; and 
perhaps to casting me utterly off. But over this 
temptation the Lord, unto whom I cried, supported me, 
and gave me faith to believe that he would bear me 
through whatever might befall me on that account. 
Wherefore I resolved, in the strength which he should 
give me, to be faithful to his requirings, whatever 
might come of it. 

Thus labouring under various exercises on the way, 
[ at length got home, expecting I should have but a 
rough reception from my father. But when I came 
home, I understood my father was from home. 
Wherefore I sat down by the fire in the kitchen, keep- 
ing my mind retired to the Lord, with breathings of 






1659.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 47 

spirit to him, that I might be preserved from falling. 
After some time I heard the coach drive in, which put 
me into a little fear ; and a sort of shivering came 
over me. But by the time he was alighted and come 
in, I had pretty well recovered myself; and as soon as 
I saw him, I rose up, and advanced a step or two, with 
my head covered, and said, " Isaac Penington and his 
wife remember their loves to thee." 

He made a stop to hear what I said, and observing 
that I did not stand bare, and that I used the word 
Thee to him, he, with a stern countenance, and tone 
that spake high displeasure, only said, " I shall talk 
with you, Sir, another time;" and so hastening from 
me, went into the parlour, and I saw him no more that 
night. 

Though I foresaw there was a storm arising, the 
apprehension of which was uneasy to me, yet the peace 
which I felt in my own breast, raised in me a return 
of thanksgivings to the Lord, for his gracious support- 
ing hand, which had thus far carried, me through this 
exercise ; with humble cries in spirit to him, that he 
would vouchsafe to stand by me in it to the end, and 
uphold me, that I might not fall. 



4£ THE HISTORY OF THE fl659. 



CHAPTER II. 

1659 — 1660. 

Ill usage from his Father — Walk to Wycombe — Exercising doubts and 
their removal — His Father's distress at his absence — Returns home — 
J. Raunce — His Father's violence — Hat honour — Suffering at home 

— Family worship — Visit from I. Penington and wife — Interference 
on his behalf — Returns home with them — Arrest at Maidenhead — 
Examination — Release — Preservation from evil — Kindness received 

— Returns home — Mitigation of ill usage — Attendance of meetings 

— Growth in religious experience — "An Alarm to the Priests" — 
Visit to Gr. Fox the younger, in London — Escapes abuse, by being 
supposed to be no Quaker — Thomas Loe — Fifth Monarchy Men — 
The intercepted letter — Arrested and taken from home by a troop of 
horse — Esquires Clark and Knowles — A prisoner at Oxford — Letters 
from T. Loe and I. Penington. 

My spirit longed to be among Friends, and to be at 
some meeting with them on the first day, which now 
drew on, this being the sixth day night. Wherefore I 
proposed to go to Oxford on the morrow, which was the 
seventh day of the week, having heard there was a 
meeting there. Accordingly, having ordered my horse 
to be made ready betimes, I got up in the morning, and 
made myself ready also. Yet, before I would go, that 
I might be as observant to my father as possibly I 
could, I desired my sister to go up to him in his 
chamber, and acquaint him, that I had a mind to go to 
Oxford, and desired to know if he pleased to command 
me any service there. He bid her tell me, he would 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 49 

not have me go till he had spoken with me ; and getting 
up immediately, he hastened down to me before he 
was quite dressed. 

As soon as he saw me standing with my hat on, his 
passion transporting him, he fell upon me with both 
his fists ; and having by that means somewhat vented 
his anger, he plucked off my hat, and threw it away. 
Then stepping hastily out to the stable, and seeing my 
borrowed nag stand ready saddled and bridled, he 
asked his man whence that horse came ; who telling 

him he fetched it from Mr. . " Then ride him 

presently back," said my father, " and tell Mr. 

I desire he will never lend my son an horse again, 
unless he brings a note from me." 

The poor fellow, who loved me well, would fain have 
made excuses and delays ; but my father was positive 
in his command, and so urgent, that he would not let 
him stay so much as to take his breakfast, though he 
had five miles to ride, nor would he himself stir from 
the stable, till he had seen the man mounted and gone. 
Then coming in, he went up into his chamber to make 
himself more fully ready, thinking he had me safe 
enough now my horse was gone : for I took so much 
delight in riding, that I seldom went on foot. 

But while he was dressing himself in his chamber, I, 
who understood what had been done, changing my 
boots for shoes, took another hat, and acquainting my 
sister, who loved me very well, and whom I could con- 
fide in, whither I meant to go, went out privately, and 
walked away to Wycombe, having seven long miles 
5 



50 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

thither, which yet seemed little and easy to me, from 
the desire I had to be among Friends. 

As thus I travelled all alone, under a load of grief, 
from the sense I had of the opposition and hardship I 
was to expect from my father, the Enemy took advan- 
tage to assault me again, casting a doubt into my mind, 
whether I had done well in thus coming away from my 
father, without his leave or knowledge. 

I was quiet and peaceable in my spirit before this 
question was darted into me ; but after that, disturb- 
ance and trouble seized me, so that I was at a stand 
what to do, whether to go forward or backward. Fear 
of offending inclined me to go back, but desire of the 
meeting, and to be with Friends, pressed me to go 
forward. 

I stood still awhile to consider and weigh the matter 
as well as I could. I was sensibly satisfied that I had 
not left my father with any intention of undutifulness 
or disrespect to him, but merely in obedience to that 
drawing of spirit, which I was persuaded was of the 
Lord, to join with his people in worshipping him ; and 
this made me easy. 

But then the Enemy, to make me uneasy again, 
objected, But how could that drawing be of the Lord, 
which drew me to disobey my father ? 

I considered thereupon the extent of paternal power, 
which I found was not wholly arbitrary and unlimited, 
but had bounds set unto it. That as in civil matters 
it was restrained to things lawful, so in spiritual and 
religious cases it had not a compulsory power over 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 51 

conscience, which ought to be subject to the Heavenly 
Father. And therefore, though obedience to parents 
be enjoined to children, yet it is with this limitation, 
in the Lord : " Children, obey your parents in the 
Lord; for this is right." (Ephes. vi. 1.) 

This turned the scale for going forward, and so on 
I went : and yet I was not wholly free from some fluc- 
tuations of mind, from the besettings of the Enemy ; 
wherefore, although I knew that outward signs did not 
properly belong to the gospel dispensation, yet for my 
better assurance, I did, in fear and great humility, 
beseech the Lord, that he would be pleased so far to 
condescend to the weakness of his servant, as to give 
me a sign, by which I might certainly know whether 
my way was right before him or not. 

The sign which I asked was, that if I had done wrong 
in coming as I did, I might be rejected, or but coldly 
received at the place I was going to; but if this mine 
undertaking was right in his sight, he would give me 
favour with them I went to, so that they should receive 
me with hearty kindness and demonstrations of love. 

Accordingly, when I came to John Raunce's house, 
which, being so much a stranger to all, I chose to go 
to, because I understood the meeting was commonly 
held there, they received me with more than ordinary 
kindness, especially Frances Raunce, John Raunce's 
wife, who was both a grave and motherly woman, and 
had a hearty love for truth, and tenderness towards all 
that in sincerity sought after it. This kind reception, 
confirming me in the belief that my undertaking was 



52 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

approved by the Lord, gave great satisfaction and ease 
to my mind ; and I was thankful to the Lord therefor. 
Thus it fared with me there ; but at home it fared 
otherwise with my father. He supposing I had betaken 
myself to my chamber, when he took my hat from me, 
made no enquiry after me till evening came ; and then 
sitting by the fire, and considering that the weather 
was very cold, he said to my sister, w T ho sat by him, 
" Go up to your brother's chamber, and call him down ; 
it may be he will sit there else, in a sullen fit, till he 
has caught cold." "Alas ! Sir," said she, "he is not 
in his chamber, nor in the house neither." At that my 
father startling, said, "Why where is he then?" "I 
know not, Sir," said she, "where he is; but I know 
that, when he saw you had sent away his horse, he put 
on shoes, and went out on foot, and I have not seen 
him since. And indeed, Sir," added she, "I don't 
wonder at his going away, considering how you used 
him." This put my father into a great fright, doubt- 
ing I was gone quite away ; and so great a passion of 
grief seized on him, that he forbore not to weep, and 
to cry out aloud, so that the family heard him, '" Oh 
my son ! I shall never see him more ! for he is of so 
bold and resolute a spirit, that he will run himself into 
danger, and so may be thrown into some jail or other, 
where he may lie, and die before I can hear of him." 
Then bidding her light him up to his chamber, he went 
immediately to bed, where he lay restless and groaning, 
and often bemoaning himself and me, for the greatest 
part of the night. 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS E^LWOOD. 53 

Next morning my sister sent a man (whom for his 
love to me she knew she couM trust) to give me this 
account; and though by him she sent me also fresh 
linen for my use, in case I should go farther, or stay 
out longer, yet she desired me to come home as soon as 
I could. This account was very uneasy to me. I was 
much grieved that I had occasioned so much grief to 
my father ; and I would have returned that evening 
after the meeting, but the Friends would not permit it, 
for the meeting would in likelihood end late, the days 
being short, and the way long and dirty. And besides 
John Raunce told me that he had something on his 
mind to speak to my father, and that if I would stay 
till the next day, he would go down with me, hoping, 
perhaps, that while my father was under this sorrow 
for me, he might work some good upon him. Here- 
upon concluding to stay till the morrow, I dismissed 
the man with the things he brought, bidding him tell 
my sister, I intended (God willing) to return home to- 
morrow; and charging him not to let any body else 
know that he had seen me, or where he had been. 

Next morning John Raunce and I set out ; and when 
we were come to the end of the town, we agreed that 
he should go before, and knock at the great gate, and 
I would come a little after, and go in by the back 
way. He did so ; and when a servant came to open 
the gate, he asked if the justice was at home. She 
told him yes, and desiring him to come in and sit down 
in the hall, went and acquainted her master that there 
was one who desired to speak with him. He, supposing 
5* 



54 THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

it was one that came for justice, went readily into the 
hall to him. But he was not a little surprised when he 
found it was a Quaker. Yet, not knowing on what 
account he came, he stayed to hear his business. But 
when he found it was about me, he fell somewhat 
sharply on him. 

In this time I w T as come by the back way into the 
kitchen, and hearing my father's voice so loud, I 
began to doubt things wrought not well ; but I was 
soon assured of that. For my father having quickly 
enough of a Quaker's company, left John Raunce in 
the hall, and came into the kitchen, where he was 
more surprised to find me. The sight of my hat 
upon my head made him presently forget that I was 
that son. of his whom he had so lately lamented as 
lost ; and his passion of grief turning into anger, he 
could not contain himself, but running upon me, 
with both his hands, first violently snatched off my 
hat, and threw it away ; then giving me some buffets 
on my head, he said, " Sirrah, get you up to your 
chamber." I forthwith went; he following me at the 
heels, and now and then giving me a whirret on the 
ear, which, the way to my chamber lying through the 
hall where John Raunce was, he, poor man, might see 
and be sorry for, (as I doubt not he was) but could not 
help me. 

This was sure an unaccountable thing, that my 
father should, but a few days before, express so high 
a sorrow for me, as fearing he should never see me 
any more, and yet now, as soon as he saw me, should 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 55 

fly upon me with such violence, and that only because 
I did not put off my hat, which he knew I did not 
keep on in disrespect to him, but upon a religious 
principle. But as this hat-honour, as it was accounted, 
was grown to be a great idol, in those times more 
especially, so the Lord was pleased to engage his 
servants in a steady testimony against it, whatsoever 
suffering was brought upon them for it. And though 
some who have been called into the Lord's vineyard at 
later hours, and since the heat of that day hath been 
much over, may be apt to account this testimony a 
small thing to suffer so much upon, as some have done, 
not only to beating, but to fines and long and hard 
imprisonments — yet they who in those times were 
faithfully exercised in and under it, durst not despise 
the day of small things; as knowing, that he who 
should do so would not be thought worthy to be con- 
cerned in higher testimonies. 

I had now lost one of my hats, and I had but one 
more. That therefore I put on, but did not keep it 
long ; for the next time my father saw it on my head, 
he tore it violently from me, and laid it up with the 
other, I knew not where. Wherefore I put on my 
mountier-cap, which was all I had left to wear on my 
head ; and it was but a very little while that I had 
that to wear, for as soon as my father came where I 
was, I lost that also. So now I was forced to go bare- 
headed, wherever I had occasion to go, within doors 
and without. 

This was in the eleventh month, called January, 



gg THE HISTOKY OF THE [1659 

and the weather sharp, so that I, who had been bred 
up more tenderly, took so great a cold in my head, 
that my. face and head were much swelled, and my 
gums had on them boils so sore, that I could neither 
chew meat, nor without difficulty swallow liquids. It 
held long, and I underwent much pain, without much 
pity, except from my poor sister, who did what she 
could to give me ease; and at length, by frequent 
applications of figs and stoned raisins toasted, and 
laid to the boils as hot as I could bear them, they 
ripened fit for lancing, and soon after sunk. Then I 
had ease. 

Now was I laid up as a kind of prisoner for the 
rest of the w T inter, having no means to go forth 
among Friends, nor they liberty to come to me. 
Wherefore I spent the time much in my chamber, in 
waiting on the Lord, and in reading, mostly in the 
Bible. But whenever I had occasion to speak to my 
father, though I had no hat now to offend him, yet 
my language did as much ; for I durst not say You 
to him, but Thou or Thee, as the occasion required ; 
and then would he be sure to fall on me with his fists. 

At one of these times, I remember, when he had 
beaten me in that manner, he commanded me, as he 
commonly did at such times, to go to my chamber; 
this I did, and he followed me to the bottom of the 
stairs. Being come thither, he gave me a parting 
blow, and in a very angry tone, said, "Sirrah, if ever 
I hear you say Thou or Thee to me again, I'll strike 
your teeth down your throat.'' I was greatly grieved 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 57 

to hear him say so; and feeling a word rise in my 
heart, I turned again, and calmly said unto him, 
'•Would it not be just, if God should serve thee so, 
when thou sayest Thou or Thee to him?" Though 
his hand was up, I saw it sink, and his countenance 
fall, and he turned away and left me standing there. 
I notwithstanding went up into my chamber, and cried 
unto the Lord, earnestly beseeching him, that he would 
be pleased to open my father's eyes, that he might see 
whom he fought against, and for what; and that he 
would turn his heart. 

After this I had a pretty time of rest and quiet 
from these disturbances, my father not saying any 
thing to me, nor giving me occasion to say any thing 
to him. But I was still under a kind of confinement, 
unless I would have run about the country bare- 
headed like a madman; which I did not see it was 
my place to do. For I found that, although to be 
abroad and at liberty among my friends would have 
been more pleasant to me, yet home was at present 
my proper place, a school in which I was to learn with 
patience to bear the cross, and I willingly submitted 
to it. 

But after some time a fresh storm, more fierce and 
sharp than any before, arose and fell upon me ; the 
occasion whereof was this. My father having been, 
in his younger years, more especially while he lived in 
London, a constant hearer of those who are called 
Puritan preachers, had stored up a pretty stock of 
scripture knowledge, did sometimes (not constantly, 



gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1659. 

nor very often) cause his family to come together on a 
first-day in the evening, and expound a chapter to 
them, and pray. His family now, as well as his estate, 
was lessened ; for my mother was dead, my brother 
gone, and my elder sister at London; and having put 
off his husbandry, he had put off with it most of his 
servants, so that he had now but one man and one 
maid servant. It so fell out, that on a first-day night 
he bid my sister, who sat with him in the parlour, call 
in the servants to prayer. 

Whether this was done as a trial upon me or no, I 
know not, but a trial it proved to me ; for they loving 
me very well, and disliking my father's carriage to me, 
made no haste to go in, but stayed a second summons. 
This so offended him, that when at length they did go 
in, he, instead of going to prayer, examined them, why 
they came not in when they were first called ; and the 
answer they gave him being such as rather heightened 
than abated his displeasure, he with an angry tone said, 
" Call in that fellow," (meaning me, who was left alone 
in the kitchen) " for he is the cause of all this." They, 
as they were backward to go in themselves, so were not 
forward to call me in, fearing the effect of my father's 
displeasure would fall upon me ; as soon it did, for I 
hearing what was said, and not staying for the call, 
went in of myself. And as soon as I was come in, my 
father discharged his displeasure on me, in very sharp 
and bitter expressions ; which drew from me, in the 
grief of my heart to see him so transported with pas- 
sion, these few words, " They that can pray with such 



1659.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 59 

a spirit, let them ; for my part I cannot." With that 
my father flew upon me with both his fists, and not 
thinking that sufficient, stepped hastily to the place 
where his cane stood, and catching that up, laid on me, 
I thought, with all his strength. And, being bare- 
headed, I thought his blows must needs have broken 
my skull, had I not laid mine arm over my head to 
defend it. His man seeing this, and not able to con- 
tain himself, stepped in between us, and laying hold 
on the cane, by strength of hand held it so fast, that 
though he attempted not to take it away, yet he with- 
held my father from striking w T ith it, which did but 
enrage him the more. I disliked this, in the man, and 
bid him let go the cane, and be gone, which he imme- 
diately did, and turning to be gone had a blow on the 
shoulders for his pains, which yet did not much hurt 
him. 

But now my sister, fearing lest my father should fall 
upon me again, besought him to forbear, adding, " In- 
deed, Sir, if you strike him any more, I will throw 
open the casement and cry murder, for I am afraid you 
will kill my brother." This stopped his hand, and 
after some threatening speeches, he commanded me to 
to get to my chamber, which I did, as I always did 
when he bid me. 

Thither soon after my sister followed me, to see my 
arm and dress it ; for it was indeed very much bruised 
and swelled between the wrist and the elbow, and in 
some places the skin was broken and beaten off. But 
though it was very sore, and I felt for some time much 



gO THE HISTORY OF THE [1660 

pain in it, yet I had peace and quietness in my mind, 
being more grieved for my father than for myself, who 
I knew had hurt himself more than me. 

This was, so far as I remember, the last time that 
ever my father called his family to prayer. And this 
was also the last time that he ever fell, so severely at 
least, upon me. 

Soon after this my elder sister, who in all the time 
of these exercises of mine had been in London, re- 
turned home, much troubled to find me a Quaker, a 
name of reproach and great contempt then ; and she 
being in London had received I suppose the worst cha- 
racter of them. Yet, though she disliked the people, 
her affectionate regard to me, made her rather pity 
than despise me ; and the more when she understood 
what hard usage I had met with. 

The rest of this winter I spent in a lonesome soli- 
tary life, having none to converse with, none to un- 
bosom myself unto, none to ask counsel of, none to 
seek relief from, but the Lord alone, who yet was more 
than all. And yet the company and society of faith- 
ful and judicious Friends would, I thought, have been 
very welcome, as well as helpful to me in my spiritual 
travel ; in which I thought I made but a slow progress, 
my soul breathing after further attainments ; the sense 
of which drew from me the following lines : 

The winter tree resembles me, 

Whose sap lies in its root: 
The spring draws nigh ; as it, so I 

Shall bud, I hope, and. shoot. 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. gj 

At length it pleased the Lord to move Isaac Pening- 
ton and his wife to make a visit to my father, and see 
how it fared with me ; and very welcome they were to 
me, whatever they were to him, to whom I doubt not 
but they would have been more welcome had it not 
been for me. They tarried with us all night ; and 
much discourse they had with my father, both about 
the principles of Truth in general, and me in particu- 
lar, which I was not privy to. But one thing I remem- 
ber I afterwards heard of, which was this. 

When my father and we were at their house some 
months before, Mary Penington, in some discourse 
between them, had told him how hardly her husband's 
father (Alderman Penington) had dealt with him about 
his hat ; which my father, little then thinking that it 
would, and so soon to, be his own case, did very much 
censure the Alderman for, wondering that so wise a man 
as he was should take notice of such a trivial thing as 
the putting off or keeping on a hat ; and he spared not 
to bhime him liberally for it. This gave her a handle 
to take hold of him b} r . And having had an ancient 
acquaintance with him, and he having always had an 
high opinion of and respect for her, she, who was a 
woman of great wisdom, of ready speech, and of a well 
resolved spirit, did press so close upon him with this 
home argument, that he was utterly at a loss how to 
defend himself. 

After dinner next day, when they were ready to take 
coach to return home, she desired my father that, since 
my company was so little acceptable to him, he would 
6 



(?2 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660, 

give me leave to go and spend some time with them, 
where I should be sure to be welcome. He w r as very 
unwilling I should go, and made many objections 
against it, all which she answered and removed so 
clearly, that not finding what excuse further to allege, 
he at length left it to me, and I soon turned the scale 
for going. 

We were come to the coach side before this was 
concluded on, and I was ready to step in, when one of 
my sisters privately put my father in mind that I had 
never a hat on. That somewhat startled him, for he 
did not think it fit I should go from home (and that so 
far, and to stay abroad) without a hat. Wherefore he 
whispered to her to fetch me a hat, and he entertained 
them with some discourse in the mean time. But as 
soon as he saw the hat coming, he would not stay till 
it came, lest I should put it on before him ; but break- 
ing off his discourse abruptly, took his leave of them, 
and hastened in before the hat was brought to me. 

I had not one penny of money about me, nor indeed 
elsewhere : for my father, so soon as he saw that I 
would be a Quaker, took from me both what money I 
had, and everything else of value, or that would have 
made money, as some plate buttons, rings, &c, pre- 
tending that he would keep them for me, till I came to 
myself again, lest I, in the meantime, should destroy 
them. But as I had no money, so being among my 
friends, I had no need of any, nor ever honed after it ; 
though once upon a particular occasion I had like tc 
have wanted it : the case was thus. 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. g3 

I had been at Reading, and set out from thence on 
the first-day of the week in the morning, intending 
to reach (as, in point of time I well might) to Isaac 
Penington's, where the meeting was to be that day ; 
but when I came to Maidenhead, a town on the way, 
I was stopped by the watch for riding on that day. 

The watchman, laying hold on the bridle, told me 
I must go with him to the constable : and accord- 
ingly I, making no resistance, suffered him to lead 
my horse to the constable's door. When we were 
come there, the constable told me I must go before 
the warden, who was the chief officer of that town ; 
and bid the watchman bring me on, himself walking 
before. 

Being come to the warden's door, the constable 
knocked, and desired to speak with Mr. Warden. 
He thereupon quickly coming to the door, the con- 
stable said, " Sir, I have brought a man here to you, 
whom the watch took riding through the town." The 
warden w T as a budge old man ; and I looked somewhat 
big too, having a good gelding under me, and a good 
riding coat on my back, both which my friend Isaac 
Penington had kindly accommodated me with for that 
journey. 

The warden, therefore, taking me to be (as the 
saying is) somebody, put off his hat, and made a low 
conge to me ; but when he saw that I sat still and 
neither bowed to him, nor moved my hat, he gave a 
start, and said to the constable, " You said you had 



g4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

brought a man, but he don't behave himself like a 
man." 

T sat still upon my horse, and said not a word, but 
kept my mind retired to the Lord, waiting to see what 
this would come to. 

The warden then began to examine me, asking me 
whence I came, and whither I was going : I told him 
I came from Reading, and was going to Chalfont. He 
asked me why I did travel on that day: I told him I 
did not know that it would give any offence barely to 
ride or to walk on that day, so long as I did not carry 
or drive any carriage, or horses laden with burthens. 
" Why," said he, " if your business was urgent, did you 
not take a pass from the mayor of Reading?" 
u Because," replied I, "I did not know nor think I 
should have needed one." "Well," said he, " I will 
not talk with you now, because it is time to go to 
church, but I will examine you further anon." And 
turning to the constable, " Have him," said he, "to 
an inn, and bring him before me after dinner." 

The naming of an inn put me in mind that such 
public houses were places of expense, and I knew I 
had no money to defray it ; wherefore I said to the 
warden, " Before thou sendest me to an inn, which 
may occasion some expense, I think it needful to 
acquaint thee that I have no money." 

At that the warden startled again, and turning quick 
upon me, said, " How, no money! how can that be? 
You don't look like a man that has no money." 
■' However I look," said I, " I tell thee the truth, that, 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 65 

I have no money; and I tell it to forewarn thee, that 
thou mayest not bring any charge upon the town." " I 
wonder," said he, "what art you have got, that you can 
travel without money ; you can do more, I assure you, 
than I can." 

I making no answer, he went on and said, "Well, 
well, but if you have no money, you have a good 
horse under you, and we can distrain him for the 
charge." "But," said I, "the horse is not mine." 
"No!" said he, "but you have a good coat on your 
back, and that, I hope, is your own." "No," said I, 
" but it is not, for I borrowed both the horse and the 
coat." 

With that the warden, holding up his hands, and 
smiling, said, "Bless me! I never met with such a 
man as you are before ! What, were you set out by 
the parish?" Then turning to the constable, he said, 
" Have him to the Greyhound, and bid the people be 
civil to him." Accordingly to the Greyhound I was 
led, my horse set up, and I put into a large room, and 
some account, I suppose, given of me to the people of 
the house. 

This was new work to me, and what the issue of it 
would be, I could not foresee ; but being left there 
alone, I sat down, and retired in spirit to the Lord, 
in whom alone my strength and safety was, and begged 
support of him; even that he would be pleased to 
give me wisdom and words to answer the warden, when 
I should come to be examined again before him. After 
some time, having pen, ink, and paper about me, I set 
6* 



(J6 THE HISTORY OFT HE 1660.] 

myself to write what I thought might be proper, if 
occasion served, to give the warden ; and while I was 
writing, the master of the house being come home from 
his worship, sent the tapster to me, to invite me to 
dine with him. I bid him tell his master, that I had 
not any money to pay for my dinner. He sent his 
man again to tell me, I should be welcome to dine with 
him, though I had no money. I desired him to tell 
his master that I was sensible of his civility and kind- 
ness, in so courteously inviting me to his table, but I 
had not freedom to eat of his meat unless I could have 
paid for it. So he went on with his dinner, and I with 
my writing. 

But before I had finished what was on my mind to 
write, the constable came again, bringing with him his 
fellow constable. This was a brisk, genteel young man, 
a shopkeeper in the town, whose name was Cherry. 
They saluted me very civilly, and told me they were 
come to have me before the warden. This put an end 
to my writing, which I put into my pocket, and went 
along with them. 

Being come to the warden, he asked me again the 
same questions he had asked me before ; to which I 
gave him the like answers. Then he told me the 
penalty I had incurred, which he said was either to 
pay so much money, or lie so many hours in the stocks ; 
and asked me which I would choose. I replied, " I 
shall not choose either.'' u And," said I, "I have 
told thee already that I have no money ; though if I 
had, I could not so far acknowledge myself an offender 



•1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. g7 

as to pay any. But as to lying in the stocks, I am in 
thy power, to do unto me what it shall please the Lord 
to suffer thee." 

When he heard that, he paused awhile, and then told 
me, he considered that I was but a young man, and 
might not perhaps understand the danger I had brought 
myself into, and therefore he would not use the severity 
of the law upon me ; but in hopes that I would be 
wiser hereafter, he would pass by this offence, and 
discharge me. 

Then putting on a countenance of the greatest 
gravity, he said to me, " But, young man, I would 
have you know, that you have not only broken the 
law of the land, but the law of God also ; and there- 
fore you ought to ask him forgiveness, for you have 
highly offended him." "That," said I, "I would 
most willingly do, if I were sensible that, in this case, 
I had offended him by breaking any law of his." 
"Why," said he, "do you question that?" "Yes, 
truly," said I, "for I do not know that any law of 
God doth forbid me to ride on this day." "No!" 
said he, " that's strange ! Where, I wonder, were you 
bred? You can read, can't you?" "Yes," said 1, 
"that I can." "Don't you read then," said he, "the 
commandment, 'Remember the Sabbath day to keep 
it holy; six days shalt thou labour and do all thy 
work ; but the seventh-day is the Sabbath of the 
Lord; in it thou shalt not do any work.'" "Yes," 
replied I, "I have both read it often, and remember 
it very well. But that command was given to the 



gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660 

Jews, not to Christians; and this is not that day, 
for that was the seventh-day, but this is the first." 
"How!" said he, "do you know the days of the 
week no better? You had need then be better taught." 

Here the younger constable, whose name was 
Cherry, interposing, said, " Mr. Warden, the gentle- 
man is in the right as to that, for this is the first-day 
of the week, and not the seventh." 

This the old warden took in dudgeon ; and looking 
severely on -the constable, said, "What, do you take 
upon you to teach me ? I'll have you know I will not 
be taught by you." "As you please for that, Sir," said 
the constable, " but I am sure you are mistaken in this 
point ; for Saturday, I know, is the seventh-day, and 
you know yesterday was Saturday." 

This made the warden hot and testy, and put him 
almost out of all patience, so that I feared it would 
have come to downright quarrel betwixt them, for both 
were confident, and neither would yield. And so ear- 
nestly were they engaged in the contest, that there was 
no room for me to put in a word between them. 

At length the old man, having talked himself out of 
wind, stood still awhile as it were to take breath, and 
then, bethinking himself of me, he turned to me, and 
said, "You are discharged, and may take your liberty 
to "go about your occasions." " But," said I, " I desire 
my horse may be discharged too, else I know not how 
to go." "Ay, ay," said he, "you shall have your 
horse." And turning to the other constable, who had 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 69 

not offended him, he said, " Go see that his horse be 
delivered to him." 

Away thereupon went I with that constable, leaving 
the old warden and the young constable to compose 
their difference as they could. Being come to the inn, 
the constable called for my horse to be brought out. 
Which done, I immediately mounted, and began to set 
forward. But the hostler, not knowing the condition 
of my pocket, said modestly to me, " Sir, don't you 
forget to pay for your horse's standing ?" " No truly," 
said I, " I don't forget it, but I have no money to pay 
it with, and so I told the warden before." " Well, hold 
you your tongue," said the constable to the hostler, 
" I'll see you paid." Then opening the gate they let 
me out, the constable wishing me a good journey ; and 
through the town I rode without further molestation, 
though it was as much Sabbath, I thought, when I went 
out, as it was when I came in. 

A secret joy arose in me as I rode on the way, for 
that I had been preserved from doing or saying any 
thing which might give the adversaries of Truth ad- 
vantage against it, or the friends of it ; and praises 
sprang in my thankful heart to the Lord, my pre- 
server. 

It added also not a little to my joy, that I felt the 
Lord near to me, by his witness in my heart, to check 
and w T arn me; and my spirit was so far subjected to 
him, as readily to take warning, and stop at his check; 
an instance of both, that very morning, I had. For 
ae I rode between Reading and Maidenhead, I saw 



70 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660 

lying in my way the scabbard of an hanger, which, 
having lost its hook, had slipped off, I suppose, and 
dropped from the side of the wearer ; and it had in it 
a pair of knives, whose hafts being inlaid witji silver, 
seemed to be of some value. I alighted and took it 
up, and clapping it between my thigh and the saddle, 
rode on a little way ; but I quickly found it too heavy 
for me, and the reprover in me soon began to check. 
The word arose in me, "What hast thou to do with 
that? Doth it belong to thee?" I felt I had done 
amiss in taking it ; wherefore I turned back to the place 
where it lay, and laid it down where I found it. And 
when afterwards I was stopped and seized on at Maiden- 
head, I saw there was a Providence in not bringing it 
with me ; which, if it should have been found (as it 
needs must) under my coat when I came to be un- 
horsed, might have raised some evil suspicion or sinis- 
ter thoughts concerning me. 

The stop I met with at Maidenhead had spent me 
so much time, that when I came to Isaac Penington's, 
the meeting there was half over, which gave them 
occasion, after meeting, to inquire of me if anything 
had befallen me on the way, which had caused me to 
come so late ; whereupon I related to them what exer- 
cise I had met with, and how the Lord had helped me 
through it ; which when they had heard, they rejoiced 
with me, and for my sake. 

Great was the love and manifold the kindness which 
I received from these my worthy friends Isaac and 
Mary Penington, while I abode in their family. They 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 71 

were indeed as affectionate parents and tender nurses 
to me, in this time of my religious childhood. For 
besides their weighty and seasonable counsels, and ex- 
emplary conversations, they furnished me with means 
to go to the other meetings of Friends in that country, 
when the meeting was not in their own house. And 
indeed, the time I stayed with them was so well spent, 
that it not only yielded great satisfaction to my mind, 
but turned, in good measure, to my spiritual advantage 
in the Truth. 

But that I might not, on the one hand, bear too 
hard upon my friends, nor on the other hand forget the 
house of thraldom, after I had stayed with them some 
six or seven weeks, from the time called Easter to the 
time called Whitsuntide, I took my leave of them to 
depart home, intending to walk to Wycombe in one day, 
and from thence home in another. 

That day w T hen I came home I did not see my father, 
nor until noon the next day, when I went into the par- 
lour where he was, to take my usual place at dinner. 
When I came in, I observed, by my father's counte- 
nance, that my hat w T as still an offence to him ; but 
when I had sat down, and before I had eaten anything, 
he made me understand it more fully, by saying to me, 
but in a milder tone than he had formerly used to speak 
to me in, " If you cannot content yourself to come to 
dinner without your hive on your head, (so he called 
my hat) pray rise, and go take your dinner somewhere 
else." 

Upon those words I rose from the table, and leaving 



70 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

the room went into the kitchen, where I stayed till the 
Servants went to dinner, and then sat down very con- 
tentedly with them. Yet I suppose my father might 
intend that I should have gone into some other room, 
and there have eaten by myself. But I chose rather 
to eat with the servants ; and did so from thence- 
forward, so long as he and I lived together. And from 
that time he rather chose, as I thought, to avoid seeing 
me, than to renew the quarrel about my hat. 

My sisters meanwhile, observing my wariness in 
words and behaviour, and being satisfied, I suppose, 
that I acted upon a principle of religion and conscience, 
carried themselves very kindly to me, and did what 
they could to mitigate my father's displeasure against 
me. So that I now enjoyed much more quiet at home, 
and took more liberty to go abroad amongst my friends, 
than I had done or could do before. And having in- 
formed myself where any meetings of Friends were 
holden, within a reasonable distance from me, I resorted 
to them. 

At first I went to a town called Hoddenham, in 
Buckinghamshire, five miles from my father's, where 
at the house of one Belson, a few who were called 
Quakers did meet sometimes, on a first-day of the 
week ; but I found little satisfaction there. After- 
wards, upon further inquiry, I understood there was a 
settled meeting at a little village called Meadle, about 
four long miles from me, in the house of one John 
White, which is continued there still; and to that 
thenceforward I constantly went while I abode in that 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 73 

country, and was able. Many a sore day's travel have 
I had thither and back again, being commonly in the 
winter time (how fair soever the weather was over head) 
wet up to the ankles at least ; yet, through the good- 
ness of the Lord to me, I was preserved in health. 

A little meeting also there was on the fourth-day of 
the week at a town called Bledlow, two miles from me, 
in the house of one Thomas Saunders, who professed 
the truth ; but his wife, whose name was Damaris, did 
possess it, she being a woman of great sincerity and 
lively sense ; and to that meeting also I usually went. 

But though I took this liberty for the service of God, 
that I might worship him in the assemblies of his people, 
yet did I not use it upon other occasions, but spent my 
time on other days for the most part in my chamber, 
in retiredness of mind, waiting on the Lord. And the 
Lord was graciously pleased to visit me by his quick- 
ening spirit and life ; so that I came to feel the opera- 
tion of his power in my heart, working out that which 
was contrary to his will, and giving me, in measure, 
dominion over it. 

And as my spirit was kept in a due subjection to this 
divine power, I grew into a nearer acquaintance with 
the Lord ; and the Lord vouchsafed to speak unto me 
in the inward of my soul, and to open my understand- 
ing in his fear, to receive counsel from him ; so that I 
not only at some times heard his voice, but could dis- 
tinguish his voice from the voice of the enemy. As 
thus I daily waited on the Lord, a weighty and un- 
usual exercise came upon me, which bowed my spirit 
7 



74 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

very low before the Lord. I had seen, in the Light 
of the Lord, the horrible guilt of those deceitful priests, 
of divers sorts and denominations, who made a trade 
of preaching, and for filthy lucre's sake held the people 
always learning ; yet so taught them, as that, by their 
teaching and ministry, they were never able to come to 
the knowledge (much less to the acknowledgment) of 
the Truth : for as they themselves hated the Light, 
because their own deeds w T ere evil, so by reviling, re- 
proaching, and blaspheming the true Light, wherewith 
every man that cometh into the world is enlightened, 
(John i. ix.) they begat in the people a disesteem of 
the Light ; and laboured, as much as in them lay, to 
keep their hearers in darkness, that they might not be 
turned to the Light in themselves, lest by the Light 
they should discover the wickedness of these their de- 
ceitful teachers, and turn from them. 

Against this practice of these false teachers, the zeal 
of the Lord had flamed in my breast, for some time ; 
and now the burthen of the word of the Lord against 
them fell heavy upon me, with command to proclaim 
his controversy against them. 

Fain would I have been excused from this service, 
which I judged too heavy for me ; wherefore I besought 
the Lord to take this weight from off me, who was in every 
respect but young, and lay it upon some other of his 
servants, of whom he had many, w T ho were much more 
able and fit for it. But the Lord would not be en- 
treated, but continued the burden upon me with greater 
weight ; requiring obedience from me, and promising 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 75 

to assist me therein. Whereupon I arose from my bed ; 
and, in the fear and dread of the Lord, committed to 
writing what he, in the motion of his Divine Spirit, 
dictated to me to write. When I had done it, though 
the sharpness of the message therein delivered was 
hard to my nature to be the publisher of, yet I found 
acceptance with the Lord in my obedience to his will, 
and his peace filled my heart. As soon as I could, I 
communicated to my friends what I had written ; and 
it was printed in the year 1660, in one sheet of paper, 
under the title of " An Alarm to the Priests ; or, A 
Message from Heaven to forewarn them, &c." 

Some time after the publishing of this paper, having 
occasion to go to London, I went to visit George Fox 
the younger, who, with another Friend, was then a 
prisoner in a messenger's hands. I had never seen him, 
nor he me before ; yet this paper lying on the table 
before him, he pointing to it, asked me if I was the 
person that writ it. I told him I was. " It's much," 
said the other Friend, "that they bear it." "It is," 
replied he, "their portion, and they must bear it." 

While I was then in London, I went to a little meet- 
ing of Friends, which was then held in the house of 
one Humphrey Bache, a goldsmith, at the sign of the 
Snail, in Tower-street. It was then a very trouble- 
some time, not from the government, but from the 
rabble of boys and rude people, who, upon the turn of 
the times at the return of the king, took liberty to be 
very abusive. 

W'hen the meeting ended, a pretty number of these 



76 THE HISTORY OP THE [1,(560. 

unruly folk were got together at the door, ready to 
receive the Friends as they came forth, not only with 
evil words, but with blows ; which I saw they bestowed 
freely on some of them that were gone out before me, 
and expected I should have my share of when I came 
amongst them. But quite contrary to my expectation, 
when I came out, they said one to another, "Let him 
alone ; don't meddle with him ; he is no Quaker, I'll 
warrant you." This struck me, and was worse to me 
than if they had laid their fists on me, as they did on 
others. I was troubled to think what the matter was, 
or what these rude people saw r in me, that made them 
not take me for a Quaker. And upon a close exami- 
nation of myself with respect to my habit and deport- 
ment, I could not find anything to place it on, but that 
I had then on my head a large mountier-cap of black 
velvet, the skirt of which being turned up in folds, 
looked, it seems, somewhat above the then common 
garb of a Quaker ; and this put me out of conceit with 
my cap. 

I came at this time to London from Isaac Pening- 
ton's, and thither I went again in my way home ; and 
while I stayed there, amongst some other Friends who 
came thither, Thomas Loe of Oxford was one. A 
faithful and diligent labourer he was in the work of the 
Lord; and an excellent ministerial gift he had. And 
in my zeal for Truth, being very desirous that my 
neighbours might have the opportunity of hearing the 
Gospel, the glad tidings of salvation, livingly and 
powerfully preached among them, I entered into com- 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 77 

munication with him about it ; offering to procure some 
convenient place in the town where I lived, for a meet- 
ing to be held, and to invite my neighbours to it, if he 
could give me any ground to expect his company at it. 
He told me he was not at his own command, but at the 
Lord's, and he knew not how he might dispose of him ; 
but wished me, if I found when I was come home, that 
the thing continued with weight upon my mind, and 
that I could get a fit place for a meeting, I would ad- 
vertise him of it, by a .few lines, directed to him in 
Oxford, whither he was then going; and he might then 
let me know how his freedom stood in that matter. 

When therefore I was come home, and had treated 
with a neighbour for a place to have a meeting in, I 
wrote to my friend Thomas Loe, to acquaint him that 
I had procured a place for a meeting, and would invite 
company to it, if he would fix the time, and give me 
some ground to hope that he would be at it. This 
letter I sent by a neighbour to Thame, to be given to a 
dyer of Oxford, who constantly kept Thame market, 
with whom I was pretty well acquainted, having some- 
times formerly used him, not only in his way of trade, 
but to carry letters between my brother and me, when 
he was a student in that University. For this service 
he was always paid, and had been so careful in the 
delivery, that our letters had always gone safe until 
now. But this time Providence so ordering, or at 
least for my trial permitting it, this letter of mine, in- 
stead of being delivered according to its direction, was 
seized and carried, as I was told, to the Lord Faulk- 
7* 



yg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

land, who was then called Lord Lieutenant of that 
county. 

The occasion of this stopping of letters at that time, 
was that mad prank of those infatuated Fifth-monarchy 
Men, who from their meeting-house in Coleman-street, 
London, breaking forth in arms, under the command 
of their chieftain Venner, made an insurrection in the 
city, on pretence of setting up the kingdom of Jesus ; 
who, it is said, they expected would come down from 
heaven to be their leader. So little understood they 
the nature of his kingdom ; though he himself had 
declared it was not of this world. 

The king, a little before his arrival in England, had, 
by his declaration from Breda, given assurance of 
liberty to tender consciences ; and that no man should 
be disquieted, or called in question for difference of 
opinion in matters of religion, who did not disturb the 
peace of the kingdom. Upon this assurance dissenters 
of all sorts relied, and held themselves secure. But 
now, by this frantic action of a few hot-brained men, 
the king was, by some, holden discharged from his 
royal w T ord and promise, in his foregoing declaration 
publicly given. Hereupon, letters were intercepted 
and broken open, for discovery of suspected plots 
and designs against the government ; and not only 
dissenters' meetings of all sorts, without distinction, 
were disturbed, but very many were imprisoned in 
most parts throughout the nation ; and great search 
there was, in all counties, for suspected persons, who, 






1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 79 

if mt found at meetings, were fetched in from their 
own houses. 

The Lord Lieutenant (so called) of Oxfordshire, 
had, on this occasion, taken Thomas Loe and many 
other of our Friends at a meeting, and sent them 
prisoners to Oxford Castle, just before my letter was 
brought to his hand, wherein I had invited Thomas 
Loe to a meeting ; and he, putting the worst con- 
struction upon it, as if I (a poor simple lad) had 
intended a seditious me-eting, in order to raise rebellion, 
ordered two of the Deputy Lieutenants, who lived 
nearest to me, to send a party of horse to fetch me in. 

Accordingly, while I, wholly ignorant of what had 
passed at Oxford, was in daily expectation of an 
agreeable answer to my letter, came a party of horse 
one morning to my father's gate, and asked for me. 

It so fell out, that my father was at that time from 
home, I think in London ; whereupon he that com- 
manded the party alighted, and came in. My eldest 
sister, hearing the noise of soldiers, came hastily up 
into my chamber, and told me there were soldiers 
below, who inquired for me. I forthwith went down 
to them, and found the commander was a barber of 
Thame, and one who had always been my barber till 
I was a Quaker. His name was Whatley, a bold brisk 
fellow. I asked him what his business was with me : 
he told me I must go with him. I demanded to see 
his warrant : he laid his hand on his sword, and said 
that was his warrant. I told him, though that was 
not a legal warrant, yet I would not dispute it, but 



g0 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

was ready to bear injuries. He told me he could not 
help it, as he was commanded to bring me forthwith 
before the Deputy Lieutenants ; and therefore desired 
me to order an horse to be got ready, because he was 
in haste. I let him know I had no horse of my own, 
and would not meddle with any of my father's horses, 
in his absence especially; and that therefore, if he 
would have me with him, he must carry me as he 
could. 

He thereupon taking my sister aside, told her he 
found I was resolute, and his orders were peremptory ; 
wherefore he desired that she would give order for an 
horse to be made ready for me, for otherwise he should 
be forced to mount me behind a trooper, which would 
be very unsuitable .for me, and which he was very 
unwilling to do. She thereupon ordered a horse to be 
got ready, upon which, when I had taken leave of my 
sisters, I mounted, and went off, not knowing whither 
he intended to carry me. 

He had orders, it seems, to take some others also 
in a neighbouring village, whose names he had, but 
their houses he did not know. Wherefore, as we 
rode, he asked me if I knew such and such men, 
(whom he named) and where they lived ; and when he 
understood that I knew them, he desired me to show 
him their houses. "No," said I, "I scorn to be an 
informer against my neighbours, to bring them into 
trouble." He thereupon riding to and fro, found by 
inquiry most of their houses, but, as it happened, found 
none of them at home, at which I was glad. 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 81 

At length he brought me to the house of one called 
Esquire Clark, of Weston by Thame, who, being after- 
wards knighted, was called Sir John Clark; a jolly- 
man, too much addicted to drinking in soberer times, 
but was now grown more licentious that way, as the 
times did now more favour debauchery. He and I 
had known one another for some years, though not 
very intimately, having met sometimes at the Lord 
Wenman's table. This Clark w T as one of the Deputy 
Lieutenants, before whom I was to be brought ; and 
he had got another to join with him in tendering me 
the oaths, whom I knew only by name and character ; 
he was called Esquire Knowls, of Grays, by Henley, 
and reputed a man of better morals than the other. 

I was brought into the hall, and kept there ; and as 
Quakers were not so common then as they now are, 
(and indeed even yet, the more is the pity, they are 
not common in that part of the country,) I was made 
a spectacle and gazing-stock to the family, and by 
divers I was diversely set upon. Some spake to me 
courteously, with appearance of compassion ; others 
ruggedly, with evident tokens of wrath and scorn. 
But though I gave them the hearing of what they 
said, which I could not well avoid, yet I said little to 
them ; but keeping my mind as well retired as I could, 
I breathed to the Lord for help and strength from him, 
to bear me up and carry me through this trial, that I 
might not sink under it, or be prevailed on by any 
means, fair or foul, to do anything that might dishonour 
or displease my God. 



52 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

At length came forth the justices themselves, (for 
so they were, as well as Lieutenants,) and after they 
had saluted me, they discoursed with me pretty 
familiarly ; and though Clark would sometimes be a 
little jocular and waggish, w T hich was somewhat natural 
to him, Knowls treated me very civilly, not seeming to 
take any offence at my not standing bare before him. 
And when a young priest, who, as I understood, was 
chaplain in the family, took upon him pragmatically 
to reprove me for standing with my hat on before the 
magistrates, and snatched my cap from off my head, 
Knowls, in a pleasant manner, corrected him, telling 
him he mistook himself in taking a cap for a hat, for 
mine was a mountier-cap, and bid him give it me again ; 
which he (though unwillingly) doing, I forthwith put 
it on my head again, and thenceforward none meddled 
with me about it. 

Then they began to examine me, putting divers 
questions to me, relating to the present disturbances in 
the nation, occasioned by the late foolish insurrection 
of those frantic Fifth-monarchy Men. To all which 
I readily answered, according to the simplicity of my 
heart and innocency of my hands ; for I had neither 
done nor thought any evil against the government. 

But they endeavoured to affright me with threats of 
danger, telling me, with inuendoes, that for all my 
pretence of innocency, there was high matter against 
me, which, if I w^ould stand out, w T ould be brought 
forth, and that under my own hand. I knew not what 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 83 

they meant by this; but I knew my innocency, and 
kept to it. 

At length, when they saw I regarded not their 
threats in general, they asked me, if I knew one Thomas 
Loe, and had written of late to him. I then remem- 
bered my letter, which till then I had not thought of; 
and thereupon frankly told them, that I did both know 
Thomas Loe, and had lately written to him ; but that 
as I knew I had written no hurt, so I did not fear any 
danger from that letter. They shook their heads, and 
said, it was dangerous to write letters to appoint meet- 
ings in such troublesome times. They added, that by 
appointing a meeting, and endeavouring to gather a 
concourse of people together, in such a juncture espe- 
cially as this was, I had rendered myself a dangerous 
person. And therefore they could do no less than 
tender me the oaths of allegiance and supremacy, 
which therefore they required me to take. 

I told them, if I could take any oath at all, I would 
take the oath of allegiance, for I owed allegiance to 
the king. But I durst not take any oath, because my 
Lord and Master Jesus Christ had commanded me not 
to swear at all ; and if I brake his command, I should 
thereby both dishonour and displease him. 

Hereupon they undertook to reason with me, and 
used many words to persuade me, that that command 
of Christ related only to common and profane swear- 
ing, not to swearing before a magistrate. I heard 
them, and saw the weakness of their arguings, but did 
not return them any answer; for I found my present 



84 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

business was not to dispute, but to suffer, and that it 
was not safe for me, in this my weak and childish state 
especially, to enter into reasonings with sharp, quick, 
witty, and learned men, lest I might thereby hurt both 
the cause of Truth, which I was to bear witness to, and 
myself. Therefore I chose rather to be a fool, and let 
them triumph over me, than by my weakness give them 
advantage to triumph over the Truth. And my spirit 
being closely exercised in a deep travail towards the 
Lord, I earnestly begged of him, that he would be 
pleased to keep me faithful to the testimony he had 
committed to me, and not suffer me to be taken in any 
of the snares which the enemy laid for me. And, 
blessed be his holy name, he heard my cries, and pre- 
served me out of them. 

When the justices saw they could not bow me to their 
wills, they told me they must send me to prison. I 
told them I was contented to suffer whatsoever the 
Lord should permit them to inflict upon me. Where- 
upon they withdrew into the parlour, to consult toge- 
ther what to do with me, leaving me meanwhile to be 
gazed on in the hall. After a pretty long stay, they 
came forth to me again with great show of kindness, 
telling me they were very unwilling to send me to jail, 
but would be as favourable to me as possibly they 
could ; and that if I would take the oaths, they would 
pass by all the other matter which they had against 
me. I told them I knew they could not justly have 
anything against me, for I had neither done nor in- 
tended anything against the government, or against 



L660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 85 

them. And as to the oaths, I assured them, that my 
refusing them was merely a matter of conscience to 
me, and that I durst not take any oath whatsoever, if 
it were to save my life. 

When they heard this, they left me again, and went 
and signed a mittimus to send me to prison at Oxford, 
and charged one of the troopers that brought me 
thither, who was one of the newly raised militia troop, 
to convey me safe to Oxford. But before we departed, 
they called the trooper aside, and give him private in- 
structions what he should do with me ; which I knew 
nothing of till I came thither, but expected I should 
go directly to the Castle. 

It was almost dark when we took horse, and we had 
about nine miles to ride, the weather thick and cold, 
for it was about the beginning of the twelfth month, 
and I had no boots, being snatched away from home 
on a sudden ; which made me not care to ride very fast. 
And my guard, who was a tradesman in Thame, having 
confidence in me that I would not give him the slip, 
jogged on without heeding how I followed him. When 
I was gone about a mile on the way, I overtook my 
father's man, who, without my knowledge, had followed 
me at a distance to Weston, and waited there abroad 
in the stables, till he understood by some of the ser- 
vants that I was to go to Oxford ; and then ran before, 
resolving not to leave me till he saw what they would 
do with me. 

I would have had him return home, but he desired 
me not to send him back, but let him run on till I came 

• 8 



gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

to Oxford. I considered that this was a token of the 
fellow's affectionate kindness to me, and that possibly 
I might send my horse home by him ; and thereupon 
stopping my horse, I bid him, if he would go on, get 
up behind me. He modestly refused, telling me he 
could run as fast as I rode. But when I told him, if 
he would not ride he should not go forward, rather 
than leave me, he leaped up behind me, and on we 
went. But he was not willing I should have gone at 
all. He had a great cudgel in his hand, and a strong 
arm to use it ; and being a stout fellow, he had a great 
mind to fight the trooper, and rescue me. Wherefore 
he desired me to turn my horse and ride off, and if the 
trooper offered to pursue, leave him to deal with him. 
I checked him sharply for that, and charged him to be 
quiet, and not think hardly of the poor trooper, who 
could do no other nor less than he did ; and who, 
though he had an ill journey in going with me, carried 
himself civilly to me. I told him also, that I had no 
need to fly, for I had done nothing that w r ould bring 
guilt or fear upon me ; neither did I go .with an ill will; 
and this quieted the man. So on we went ; but were 
so far cast behind the trooper, that we had lost both 
sight and hearing of him, and I was fain to mend my 
pace to get up to him again. 

We came pretty late into Oxford, on the seventh 
day of the week, which was the market day ; and, 
contrary to my expectation, which was to have been 
carried to the Castle, my trooper stopped in the High- 
street, and calling at a shop, asked for the master of 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 87 

the hoi: ; who coming to the door, he delivered to 
him the mittimus, and with it a letter from the 
Deputy Lieutenants, or one of them ; which, when he 
had read, he asked where the prisoner was. Where- 
upon, the soldier pointing to me, he desired me to 
alight and come in; which, when I did, he received me 
civilly. 

The trooper, being discharged of his prisoner, 
marched back, and my father's man, seeing me settled 
in better quarters than he expected, mounted my horse, 
and went off with him. 

I did not presently understand the quality of my 
keeper, but I found him a genteel, courteous man, by 
trade a linen-draper ; and, as I afterwards understood, 
he was the city-marshal, had a command in the county 
troop, and was a person of good repute in the place ; 
his name was Galloway. 

Whether I was committed to him out of regard to 
my father, that I might not be thrust into a common 
jail, or out of a politic design, to keep me from the 
conversation of my friends, in hopes that I might be 
drawn to abandon this profession, which I had but 
lately taken up, I do not know. But this I know, 
that though I wanted no civil treatment, nor kind 
accommodations where I was, yet after once I under- 
stood that many Friends were prisoners in the Castle, 
and amongst the rest Thomas Loe, I had much rather 
have been among them there, with all the incon- 
^enie-pei'r 'b?y underwent, than where I was with the 



gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

best entertainment. But this was my present lot, and 
therefore with this I endeavoured to be content. 

It was quickly known in the city, that a Quaker was 
brought in prisoner, and committed to the Marshal. 
Whereupon, the men Friends generally being prisoners 
already in the Castle, some of the women Friends 
came to inquire after me, and to visit me ; as Silas 
Norton's wife, and Thomas Loe's wife, who were 
sisters, and another woman Friend, who lived in the 
same street where I was, whose husband was not a 
Quaker, but kindly affected towards them, a baker by 
trade, and his name, as I remember, Ryland. 

By some of these an account was soon given to the 
Friends who were prisoners in the Castle, of my being 
taken up, and brought prisoner to the Marshal's. 
Whereupon it pleased the Lord to move the heart of 
my dear friend Thomas Loe, to salute me with a very 
tender and affectionate letter, in the following terms : — 

"My beloved Friend, 

" In the truth and love of the Lord Jesus, 
by which life and salvation is revealed in the saints, is 
my dear love unto thee ; and in much tenderness do I 
salute thee. And, dear heart, a time of trial God 
hath permitted to come upon us, to try our faith and 
love to him ; and this will work for the good of them, 
that through patience endure to the end. And I 
believe God will be glorified through our sufferings, 
and his name will be exalted in the patience and long 
suffering of his chosen. When I heard that thou wast 






1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 89 

called into this trial, with the servants of the Most 
High, to give thy testimony to the truth of what we 
have believed, it came into my heart to write unto 
thee, and to greet thee with the embraces of the 
power of an endless life; where our faith stands, and 
unity is felt with the saints for ever. Well, my dear 
friend, let us live in the pure counsel of the Lord, 
and dwell in his strength, which gives us power and 
sufficiency to endure all things, for his name's sake; 
and then our crown and reward will be with the Lord 
for ever, and the blessings of his heavenly kingdom 
will be our portion. Oh, dear heart, let us give up 
all freely into, the will of God, that God may be glori- 
fied by us, and we comforted together in the Lord 
Jesus ; which is the desire of my soul, who am thy 
dear and loving friend in the eternal Truth, 

Thomas Loe." 



a 



We are more than forty here, who suffer inno- 
cently for the testimony of a good conscience, because 
we cannot swear, and break Christ's commands ; and 
we are all well ; and the blessing and presence of God 
are with us. Friends here salute thee. 

" Farewell! The power and the wisdom of the Lord 
God be with thee. Amen." 

Greatly was my spirit refreshed, and my heart glad- 
dened, at the reading of this consoling letter from my 
friend; and my soul blessed the Lord for his love and 
8* 



90 THE HISTORY OF THE [1660. 

tender goodness to me, in moving his servant to write 
thus unto me. 

But I had cause soon after to double and redouble 
my thankful acknowledgment to the Lord my God, 
who put it into the heart of my dear friend, Isaac 
Penington, also to visit me with some encouraging 
lines from Aylesbury jail, where he was then a 
prisoner ; and from whence, having heard that I was 
carried prisoner to Oxford, he thus saluted me : — 

"Dear Thomas, 

" Great hath been the Lord's goodness to 
thee, in calling thee out of that path of vanity and 
death, wherein thou wast running towards destruction ; 
to give thee a living name, and an inheritance of life 
among his people ; which certainly will be the end of 
thy faith in him, and obedience to him. And let it 
not be a light thing in thine eyes, that he now 
accounteth thee worthy to suffer among his choice 
lambs, that he might make thy crown weightier, and 
thy inheritance the fuller. 0, that that eye and heart 
may be kept open in thee, which knoweth the value 
of these things ! and that thou mayest be kept close 
to the feeling of the Life, that thou mayest be fresh 
in thy spirit in the midst of thy sufferings, and mayest 
reap the benefit of them ; finding that pared off 
thereby, which hindreth the bubblings of the ever- 
lasting springs, and maketh unfit for the breaking 
forth and enjoyment of the pure power! This is the 
brief salutation of my dear love to thee, which 



1660.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. Q\ 

desireth thy strength and settlement in the power, and 
the utter weakening of thee as to self. My dear love 
is to thee, with dear Thomas Goodyare, and the rest 
of imprisoned Friends. 

"I remain thine in the Truth, to which the Lord 
my God preserve me single and faithful, 

I. Penington." 

From Aylesbury Jail, 
14th of the 12th Month, 1660." 



CHAPTER III. 

1661. 

Visit to Friends in prison — Release from imprisonment — Esquire Clark 
again — Journey home — Snare devised to keep him from meeting — 
Counter plans — Race between father and son — Breaking up of the 
family — Visit to Aylesbury Jail — Friends in prison — Visits to Chalfont 
— Richard Greenaway and John Ovy — Meeting at I. Penington's 
broken up by Military — Arrest of Friends — Examination — Discharge 
by the Justice — John Ovy in trouble — Return home — Visit to his 
father — Arrest at Beaconsfield — Singular treatment at the constable's 
house — Mother Grime — A plot foiled — Small-pox — Impaired sight — 
Recovery. 

Though these epistolary visits in the love of God 
were very comfortable and confirming to me, and my 
heart was thankful to the Lord for them, yet I honed 
after personal conversation with Friends ; and it was 
hard, I thought, that there should be so many faithful 
servants of God so near me,*yet I should not be per- 



92 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

mitted to come at them, to enjoy their company, and 
to reap both the pleasure and benefit of their sweet 
society. For although my Marshal-keeper was very 
kind to me, and allowed me the liberty of his house, yet 
he was not willing I should be seen abroad; the rather, 
perhaps, because he understood I had been pretty well 
known in that city. Yet once the friendly baker got 
him to let me step over to his house ; and once (and 
but once) I prevailed with him to let me visit my friends 
in the Castle ; but it was with these conditions, that I 
should not go forth till it was dark, that I would muffle 
myself up in my cloak, and that I would not stay out 
late : all which I punctually observed. 

When I came thither, though there were many 
Friends prisoners, I scarcely knew one of them by face, 
except Thomas Loe, whom I had once seen at Isaac 
Penington's ; nor did any of them know me, though 
they had heard, generally, that such a young man as I 
was convinced of the Truth, and come among Friends. 

Our salutation to each other was very grave and 
solemn : nor did we entertain one another with much 
talk, or with common discourses ; but most of the little 
time I had with them was spent in a silent retiredness 
of spirit, waiting upon the Lord. Yet before w T e parted, 
we imparted one to another some of the exercises we 
had gone through ; and they seeming willing to under- 
stand the ground and manner of my commitment, I 
gave them a brief account thereof, letting Thomas Loe 
more particularly know that I had directed a letter to 
him, which having fallen* into the hand of the Lord- 






1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 93 

Lieutenant, was, so far as I could learn, the immediate 
cause of mj being taken up. Having stayed with 
them as long as my limited time would permit, which I 
thought was but very short, that I might keep touch 
with my 'keeper, and come home in due time, I took 
leave of my friends there, and with mutual embraces 
parting, returned to my (in some sense more easy, but 
in others less easy) prison, where, after this, I stayed 
not long before I was brought back to my father's 
house. For after my father was come home, who, as 
I observed before, was from home when I w T as taken, 
he applied himself to those justices who had committed 
me, and not having disobliged them when he was in 
office, easily obtained leave to have me sent home ; 
which, between him and them, was thus contrived. 

There was about this time a general muster and 
training of the militia forces at Oxford, whither, on 
that occasion, came the Lord Lieutenant and Deputy 
Lieutenants of the county, of which number they who 
committed me were two. When they had been awhile 
together, and the Marshal with them, he stepped sud- 
denly in, and in haste told me I must get ready quickly 
to go out of town, and that a soldier would come by 
and by to go with me. This said, he hastened to them 
again, not giving me any intimation how I was to go, 
or whither. 

I needed not much time to get ready in ; but I 
was uneasy in thinking what the Friends of the town 
would think of this my sudden and private removal; 
and I feared lest any report should be raised, that ] 



94 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

had purchased my liberty by an unfaithful compliance. 
Wherefore I was in care how to speak with some Friend 
about it ; and that friendly baker, whose wife was a 
Friend, living on the other side of the street at a little 
distance, I went out at a back door, intending to step 
over the way to their house, and return immediately. 

It so fell out, that some of the Lieutenants, of whom 
Esquire Clark, who committed me, was one, were 
standing in the balcony at a great inn or tavern, just 
over the place where I was to go by ; and he spying 
me, called out to the soldiers, who stood thick in the 
street, to stop me. They being generally gentlemen's 
servants, and many of them knowing me, did civilly 
forbear to lay hold on me, but calling modestly after 
me, said, "Stay, Sir, stay; pray come back." I 
heard, but was not willing to hear, therefore rather 
mended my pace, that I might have got within the door. 
But he calling earnestly after me, and charging them 
to stop me, some of them were fain to run, and laying 
hold on me before I could open the door, brought me 
bnck to my place again. 

Being thus disappointed, I took a pen and ink, and 
wrote a few lines, which I sealed up, and gave to the 
apprentice in the shop, who had carried himself hand- 
somely towards me, and desired him to deliver it to 
that Friend who was their neighbour, which he promised 
to do. By the time I had done this, came the soldier 
that was appointed to conduct me out of town. I 
knew the man, for he lived within a mile of me, being 
through poverty reduced to keep an ale-house ; but he 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 95 

had lived in better fashion, having kept an inn at 
Thame, and by that means knew how to behave him- 
self civilly, and did so to me. He told me he was 
ordered to wait on me to Whately, and to tarry there 
at such at inn, until Esquire Clark came thither, who 
would then take me home with him in his coach. Ac- 
cordingly to Whately we walked, (which is from Oxford 
some four or five miles) and long we had not been there 
before Clark, and a great company of rude men, came 
in. 

He alighted, and stayed awhile to eat and drink, 
though he came but from Oxford, and invited me to eat 
with him ; but I, though I had need enough, refused 
it, for indeed their conversation was a burthen to my 
life, and made me often think of and pity good Lot. 
He seemed at that time, to be in a sort of mixed 
temper, between pleasantness and sourness. He would 
sometimes joke, (which was natural to him) and cast 
out a jesting flirt at me; but he would rail maliciously 
against the Quakers. "If," said he to me, " the king 
would authorize me to do it, I would not leave a 
Quaker alive in England, except you. I would make 
no more," added he, "to set my pistol to their ears, 
and shoot them through the head, than I would to kill 
a dog." I told him I was sorry he had so ill an opin- 
ion of the Quakers, but I was glad he had no cause for 
it, and I hoped he would be of a better mind. 

I had in my hand a little walking stick, with a head 
on it, which he commended, and took out of my hand 
to look on it ; but I saw his intention was to search 



96 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

Whether it had a tuck in it, for he tried to draw the 
head; but when lie found it was fast, he returned it 
to me. lie told me I should ride with him to his 
house in his coach, which was nothing pleasant to me ; 
for I had rather have gone on foot, (bad as the ways 
were,) that I might have been out of his company. 
Wherefore I took no notice of any kindness in the 
offer, but only answered, I was at his disposal, not 
mine own. 

But when we were ready to go, the Marshal came to 
me, and told me, if I pleased I should ride his horse, 
and he would go in the coach with Mr. Clark. I was 
glad of the offer, and only told him he should take out 
his pistols then, for I would not ride with them. He 
took them out, and laid them in the coach by him, and 
away we went. 

It was a fine beast that I was set on, by much the 
best in the company. But though she was very tall, 
yet the ways being very foul, I found it needful, as 
soon as I was out of town, to alight and take up the 
stirrups. Meanwhile, they driving hard on, I was so 
far behind, that being at length missed by the com- 
pany, a soldier was sent back to look after me. As 
soon as I had fitted my stirrups, and was remounted, 
I gave the rein to my mare, which being courageous 
and nimble, and impatient of delay, made great speed 
to recover the company. And in a narrow passage the 
6oldier, who was my barber, that had fetched me from 
Home, and I, met upon so brisk a gallop, that we had 



1661.] LIFE 0? THOMAS ELLWOOD. 97 

enough to do on either side to take up our horses and 
avoid a brush. 

When we were come to Weston, where Esquire 
Clark lived, he took the Marshal, and some others 
with him, into the parlour ; but I was left in the hall, 
to be exposed a second time for the family to gaze on. 
At length himself came out to me, leading in his 
hand a beloved daughter of his, a young woman of 
about eighteen years of age, who wanted nothing to 
have made her comely, but gravity. An airy piece 
she was, and very merry she made herself at me. 
This was all by candle-light ; and when they had 
made as much sport with me as they would, the 
Marshal took his leave of them, and mounting me on 
a horse of Clark's, had me home to my father's that 
night. 

Next morning, before the Marshal went away, my 
father and he consulted together how to entangle me. 
I felt there were snares laid, but I did not know in 
what manner, or to what end, till the Marshal was 
ready to go. And then, coming where I was to take 
his leave of me, he desired me to take notice, that 
although he had brought me home to my father's house 
again, yet I was not discharged from my imprisonment, 
but was his prisoner still ; and that he had committed 
me to the care of my father, to see me forthcoming 
whenever I should be called for. And therefore he 
expected I should in all things observe my father's 
orders, and not go out at any time from the house 
without his leave. 
9 



98 THE HISTOKY OF THE [1661. 

Now I plainly saw the snare, and to what end it was 
laid, and I asked him if this device was not contrived 
to keep me from going to meetings. He said I must 
not go to meetings. Whereupon I desired him to take 
notice, that I would not own myself a prisoner to any 
man while I continued here. That if he had power 
to detain me prisoner, he might take me back again 
with him if he would, and I should not refuse to go 
with him. But I bid him assure himself, that while I 
was at home, I would take my liberty both to go to 
meetings, and to visit Friends. He smiled, and said if 
I would be resolute, he could not help it ; and so took 
his leave of me. By this I perceived that the plot 
was of my father's laying, to have brought me under 
such an engagement, as should have tied me from going 
to meetings ; and thereupon I expected I should have 
a new exercise from my father. 

It was the constant manner of my father to have 
all the keys of the out-doors of his house, which were 
four, and those linked upon a chain, brought up into 
his chamber every night, and fetched out from thence 
in the morning ; so ^hat none could come in or go out 
in the night without his knowledge. I knowing this, 
suspected that if I got not out before my father came 
down, I should be stopped from going out at all that 
day. Wherefore, the passage from my chamber lying 
by his chamber door, I went down softly without my 
shoes ; and as soon as the maid had opened the door, 
I went out, (though too early) and walked towards the 
meeting at Meadle, four long miles off. I expected to 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 99 

have been talked with about it when I came home, but 
heard nothing of it, my father resolving to watch me 
better next time. 

This I was aware of; and therefore on the next 
first-day I got up early, and went down softly, and 
hid myself in a back room before the maid was 
stirring. When she was up, she went into my father's 
chamber for the keys ; but he bid her leave them till 
he was up, and he would bring them down himself; 
which he did, and tarried in the kitchen, through 
which he expected I would go. The manner was, that 
when the common doors were opened, the keys were 
hung upon a pin in the hall. While, therefore, my 
father stayed in the kitchen expecting my coming, I, 
stepping gently out of the room where I was, reached 
the keys, and opening another door, not often used, 
slipped out, and so got away. I thought I had gone 
off undiscovered : but whether my father saw me 
through a window, or by what other means he knew 
of my going, I know not, but I had gone but a little 
way before I saw him coming after me. The sight of 
him put me to a stand in my mind whether I should 
go on or stop. Had it been in any other case than 
that of going to a meeting, I could not in any wise 
have gone a step further. But I considered that the 
intent of my father's endeavouring to stop me, was to 
hinder me from obeying the call of my Heavenly 
Father, and to stop me from going to worship him in 
the assembly of his people ; upon this I found it my 
duty to go on, and observing that my father gained 



100 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661 

ground upon me, I somewhat mended my pace. This 
he observing, mended* his pace also, and at length 
ran. Whereupon I ran also, and a fair course we had 
through a large meadow of his, which lay behind his 
house, and out of sight of the town. He was not, -I 
suppose, then above fifty years of age, and being light 
of body, and nimble of foot, he held me to it for a 
while. But afterwards slackening his pace to take 
breath, and observing that I had gotten ground of him, 
he turned back and went home ; and, as I afterwards 
understood, telling my sisters how I had served him, 
he said, " Nay, if he wdll take so much pains to go, 
let him go if he will." And from that time forward 
he never attempted to stop me, but left me to my 
liberty, to go when and whither I would ; yet kept me 
at the usual distance, avoiding the sight of me as 
much as he could, as not able to bear the sight of my 
ha^, on, nor willing to contend with me again about it. 
Nor was it long after this before I was left not only 
to myself, but in a manner by myself. For the time 
appointed for the coronation of the king, which was the 
23d of the second month, called April, drawing on, 
my father, taking my two sisters with him, went up to 
London some time before, that they might be there in 
readiness, and put themselves into a condition to see 
that so great a solemnity, leaving nobody in the house 
but myself and a couple of servants. And though this 
was intended only for a visit on that occasion, yet it 
proved the breaking up of the family ; for he bestowed 
both his daughters there in marriage, and took lodg- 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 101 

ings for himself; so that afterwards they never re- 
turned to settle at Crowell. 

Being now at liberty, I walked over to Aylesbury, 
w T ith some other Friends, to visit my dear friend Isaac 
Penington, who w T as still a prisoner there. With him 
I found dear John Whitehead, and between sixty and 
seventy more, being well nigh all the men Friends 
then in the county of Bucks ; many of them were taken 
out of their houses by armed men, and sent to prison 
(as I had been) for refusing to swear. Most of these 
were thrust into an old room behind the jail, which had 
anciently been a malt-house, but was now so decayed, 
that it w 7 as scarcely fit for a dog-house. And so open 
it lay, that the prisoners might have gone out at plea- 
sure. But these were purposely put there, in confi- 
dence that they would not go out, that there might be 
room in the prison for others, of other professions and 
names, whom the jailor did not trust there. 

While this imprisonment la-sted, w T hich was for some 
months, I went afterwards thither sometimes to visit 
my suffering brethren ; and because it was a pretty long 
way, (some eight or nine miles) too far to be walked 
forward and backward in one day, I sometimes stayed 
a day or two there, and lay in the malt-house among 
my friends, with whom I delighted to be. 

After this imprisonment was over, I went sometimes 
to Isaac Penington's house at Chalfont, to visit that 
family, and the Friends thereabouts. There w T as then 
a meeting, for the most part, twice a week in his house ; 
but one first-day in four there was a more general 
9* 



IQO THE HISTORY OF THE [1661 

meeting, which was thence called the Monthly Meet- 
ing, to which resorted most of the Friends of other ad- 
jacent meetings ; and to that I usually went, and some- 
times made some stay there. 

Here I became acquainted with a Friend of London, 
whose name was Richard Greenaway, by trade a tailor, 
a very honest man, and one who had received a gift for 
the ministry. He, having been formerly in other pro- 
fessions of religion, had then been acquainted with one 
John Ovy, of Watlington, in Oxfordshire, a man of 
some note among the professors there ; and understand- 
ing upon inquiry that I knew him, he had some dis- 
course with me about him. The result whereof was, 
that he, having an intention then shortly to visit some 
meetings of Friends in this county, and the adjoining 
parts of Oxfordshire and Berkshire, invited me to 
meet him, upon notice given, and to bear him company 
in that journey; and in the way bring him to John 
Ovy's house, with whom I was well acquainted ; which 
I did. 

We were kindly received, the man and his wife being 
very glad to see both their old friend Richard Green- 
away, and me also, whom they had been very well ac- 
quainted with formely, but had never seen me since I 
was a Quaker. Here we tarried that night, and in the 
evening had a little meeting there with some few of 
John Ovy's people, amongst whom Richard Greenaway 
declared the Truth ; which they attentively heard, and 
did not oppose, which at that time of day we reckoned 
was pretty well ; for many were apt to cavil. 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 103 

This visit gave John Ovy an opportunity to inquire 
of me after Isaac Penington, whose writings (those 
which he had written before he came among Friends) 
he had read, and had a great esteem of; and he ex- 
pressed a desire to see him, that he might have some 
discourse with him, if he knew how. Whereupon I 
told him, that if he would take the pains to go to his 
house, I would bear him company thither, introduce 
him, and engage he should have a kind reception. 
This pleased him much ; and he embracing the offer, I 
undertook to give him notice of a suitable time ; which, 
after I had gone this little journey with my friend 
Richard Greenaway, and was returned, I did, making 
choice of the Monthly Meeting to go to. 

We met by appointment at Stoken Church, with our 
staves in our hands, like a couple of pilgrims, intend- 
ing to walk on foot; and having taken some refresh- 
ment and rest at Wycombe, went on cheerfully in the 
afternoon, entertaining each other with grave and re- 
ligious discourse, which made the walk the easier ; and 
so we reached thither in good time, on the seventh day 
of the week. I gave my friends an account who this 
person was, whom I had brought to visit them, and the 
ground of his visit. He had been a professor of re- 
ligion, from his childhood to his old age, for he was now 
both greyheaded and elderly, and was a teacher at this 
time, and had long been so amongst a people, whether 
Baptists or Independents I do not well remember. 
And so well thought of he was, for his zeal and 
honesty, that in those late professing times, he was 



104 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

thrust into the commission of the peace, and thereby 
lifted up on to the bench, which neither became him 
nor he it. For he wanted indeed most of the qualifi- 
cations requisite for a justice of the peace ; an estate 
to defray the charge of the office, and to bear him up 
in a course of living above contempt — a competent 
knowledge in the laws, and a presence of mind or body, 
or both, to keep offenders in some awe ; in all which he 
was deficient. For he w^as but a fellmonger by trade, 
accustomed to ride upon bis pack of skins, and had 
very little estate, as little knowledge of the law, and 
was of but a mean presence and appearance to look 
on. But as my father, I sujDpose, was the means of 
getting him put into the commission, so he, I know, 
did what he could to countenance him in it, and help 
him through it at every turn, till that turn came, at the 
king's return, which turned them both out together. 

My friends received me in affectionate kindness, and 
my companion with courteous civility. The evening- 
was spent in common but grave conversation ; for it was 
not a proper season for private discourse, both as we 
were somewhat weary with our walk, and there were 
other companies of Friends come into the family, to 
be at the meeting next day. 

But in the morning I took John Ovy into a private 
walk, in a pleasant grove near the house, whither Isaac 
Penington came to us ; and there, in discourse, both 
answered all his questions, objections, and doubts, and 
opened to him the principles of Truth, to his admi- 
ration and present satisfaction. Which done, we went 



1661.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 105 

in to take some refreshment before the meeting began. 
Of those Friends who were come over night, in order 
to be at the meeting, there was Isaac's brother, Wil- 
liam Penington, a merchant of London, and with him 
a Friend, whose name I have forgotten, a grocer at 
Colchester ; and there was also our friend George 
Whitehead, whom I had not, that I remember, seen 
before. 

The nation had been in a ferment ever since that 
mad action of the frantic Fifth-monarchy Men, and 
was not yet settled ; but storms, like thunder showers, 
flew here and there by coast, so that we could not pro- 
mise ourselves any safety or quiet in our meetings. 
And though they had escaped disturbances for some 
little time before, yet so it fell out, that a party of 
horse were appointed to come and break up the meet- 
ing that day, though we knew nothing of it, till we 
heard and saw them. 

The meeting was scarce fully gathered when they 
came. But we that were in the family, and many 
others, were settled in it in great peace and stillness, 
when on a sudden the prancing of the horses gave 
notice that a disturbance was at hand. We all sat 
still in our places, except my companion, John Ovy, 
who sat next to me. But he, being of a profession 
that approved Peter's advice to his Lord, to save him- 
self, soon took the alarm, and with the nimbleness of 
a stripling, cutting a caper over the form that stood 
before him, ran quickly out at a private door, which he 
had before observed, leading through the parlour into 



10fl THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

the gardens, and from thence into an orchard; where 
lie hid himself in a place so obscure, and withal so con- 
venient for his intelligence by observation of what 
passed, that no one of the family could scarce have 
found a likelier. 

By the time he got into his burrow, came the sol- 
diers in, being a party of the county troop, commanded 
by Matthew Archdale, of Wycombe. He behaved 
himself civilly ; and said, he was commanded to break 
up the meeting and carry the men before a justice of 
the peace ; but he said he would not take all ; and 
thereupon began to pick and choose, chiefly as his eye 
guided him, for I suppose he knew very few. He took 
Isaac Penington and his brother, George Whitehead, 
and the Friend of Colchester, and me, with three or 
four more of the country, who belonged to that meet- 
ing. He was not fond of the work, and that made him 
take no more. But he must take some, he said, and 
bid us provide to go with him before Sir William Boyer, 
of Denham, who was a justice of the peace. Isaac 
Penington being but weakly, rode, but the rest of us 
walked thither, it being about four miles. 

When we came there, the justice carried himself 
civilly to us all, courteously to Isaac Penington, as 
being a gentleman of his neighbourhood ; and nothing 
was charged against us, but that we were met together 
without word or deed. Yet this being contrary to a 
late proclamation, given forth upon the rising of the 
Fifth-monarchy Men, whereby all dissenters' meetings 
were forbidden, the justice could do no less than take 



1601.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 107 

notice of us. Wherefore he examined all of us whom 
he did not personally know, asking our names, and the 
places of our respective habitations. But when he had 
them, and considered from what distant parts of the 
nation we came, he was amazed. For George White- 
head was of Westmoreland, in the north of England ; 
the grocer was of Essex ; I was of Oxfordshire ; and 
William Penington was of London. 

Hereupon he told us, that our case looked ill, and 
he was sorry for it: "for how," said he, " can it be 
imagined that so many could jump altogether at one 
time and place, from such remote quarters and parts 
of the kingdom, if it was not by combination and ap- 
pointment?" He was answered, that we were so far 
from coming thither by agreement or appointment, that 
none of us knew of the others' coming, and for the 
most of us, we had never seen one another before ; and 
that therefore he might impute it to chance, or if he 
pleased, to Providence. 

He urged upon us, that an insurrection had been 
lately made by armed men, who pretended to be more 
religious than others ; that that insurrection had been 
plotted and contrived in their meeting-house, where 
they assembled under colour of worshipping God ; that 
in their meeting-house they hid their arms, and armed 
themselves ; and out of their meeting-house issued forth 
in arms, and killed many : — so that the government 
could not be safe, unless such meetings were suppressed , 
We replied, we hoped he would distinguish, and make 
a difference between the guilty and the innocent, and 



JOS THE HISTORY OF THE [1C6J. 

between those who were principled for fighting, and 
those who were principled against it ; which we were, 
and had always been known to be so ; that our meet- 
ings were public, our doors standing open to all comers, 
of all ages, sexes, and persuasions, men, women, and 
children, those that were not of our religion, as well 
as those that w r ere. And that it was next to madness 
for people to plot in such meetings. 

He told us, we must find sureties for our good 
behaviour, and to answer our contempt of the king's 
proclamation at the next General Quarter Sessions, 
or else he must commit us. We told him, that know T - 
ing our innocency, and that w T e had not misbehaved 
ourselves, nor did meet in contempt of the king's 
authority, but purely in obedience to the Lord's 
requirings, to worship him, which we held ourselves 
in duty bound to do, we could not consent to be 
bound, for that would imply guilt, which w T e were free 
from. 

"Then," said he, "I must commit you;" anc 
ordered his clerk, to make a mittimus. And divers 
mittimusses were made, but none of them w^ould hold ; 
for still when they came to be read, we found such 
flaws in them, as made him throw them aside, and 
write more. 

He had his eye often upon me, for I was a young 
man, and had at that time a black suit on. At length 
he bid me follow him, and went into a private room, 
shutting the door upon me. I knew not what he 
meant by this ; but I cried in spirit to the Lord, that 



±661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 109 

he would be pleased to be a mouth and wisdom to me, 
and keep me from being entangled in any snare. 

He asked me many questions concerning my birth, 
my education, my acquaintance in Oxfordshire, par- 
ticularly what men of note I knew there. To all 
which I gave him brief, but plain and true answers, 
naming several families of best rank in that part of 
the country where I dwelt. He asked me how long I 
had been of this way, and how I came to be of it. 
Which when I had given him some account of, he 
began to persuade me to leave it, and return to the 
right way, the Church, as he called it. I desired him 
to spare his pains in that respect, and forbear any 
discourse of that kind, for that I was fully satisfied 
the way I was in was the right way, and hoped the 
Lord would so preserve me in it, that nothing should 
be able to draw or drive me out of it. He seemed 
not pleased with that, and thereupon went out to the 
rest of the company, and I followed him, glad in my 
heart that I had escaped so well, and praising God for 
my deliverance. 

When he had taken his seat again at the upper end 
of a fair hall, he told us he was not willing to take 
the utmost rigour of the law against us, but would be 
as favourable to us as he could. And therefore he 
would discharge, he said, Mr. Penington himself, 
because he was but at home in his own house. And 
he would discharge Mr. Penington of London, because 
he came but as a relation to visit his brother And 
he would discharge the grocer of Colchester, because 
10 



HO THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

he came to bear Mr. Penington of London company, 
and to be acquainted with Mr. Isaac Penington, whom 
he had never seen before. And as for those others of 
us, who were of this country, he would discharge 
them, for the present at least, because they being his 
neighbours, he could send for them when he would. 
"But as for you," said he to George Whitehead and 
me, "I can see no business you had there, and there- 
fore I intend to hold you to it, either to give bail, or 
go to jail." 

We told him we could not give bail. " Then," said 
he, "you must go to jail ;" and thereupon he began to 
write our mittimus ; which puzzled him again. For he 
had discharged so many, that he was at a loss w T hat to 
lay as the ground of our commitment, whose case 
differed nothing in reality from theirs whom he had 
discharged. At length, having made divers draughts, 
which still George Whitehead showed him the defects 
of, he seemed to be weary of us ; and rising up, said 
unto us, "I consider that it is grown late in the day, 
so that the officer cannot carry you to Aylesbury to- 
night, and I suppose you will be willing to go back 
with Mr. Penington ; therefore, if you will promise to 
be forthcoming at his house to-morrow morning, I will 
dismiss you for the present, and you shall hear from 
me again to-morrow." 

We told him we did intend, if he did not otherwise 
dispose of us, to spend that night with our friend 
Isaac Penington ; and would, if the Lord gave us 
leave, be there in the morning, ready to answer his 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. \\\ 

i^equirings. Whereupon he dismissed us all, willing, 
as we thought, to be rid of us ; for he seemed not to 
be of an ill temper, nor desirous to put us to trouble, 
if he could help it. Back then we went to Isaac 
Penington's. 

But when we were come thither, the work we had 
with poor John Ovy ! He was so dejected in mind, 
so covered with shame and confusion of face, for his 
cowardliness, that we had enough to do to pacify him 
towards himself. The place he had found out to shelter 
himself in was so commodiously contrived, that undis- 
covered he could discern w hen the soldiers went off with 
us, and understand when the bustle was over, and the 
coast clear. Whereupon he adventured to peep out of 
his hole, and in a while drew near, by degrees, to the 
house again; and finding all things quiet and still, he 
adventured to step within the doors, and found the 
Friends who were left behind, peaceably settled in the 
meeting again. 

The sight of this smote him, and made him sit down 
among them. And after the meeting was ended, and 
the Friends departed to their several homes, address- 
ing himself to Mary Penington, as the mistress of the 
house, he could not enough magnify the bravery and 
courage of the Friends, nor sufficiently debase himself. 
He told her how long he had been a professor, — what 
pains he had taken, — what hazards he had run, — in 
his youthful days, to get to meetings ; how, when the 
ways were forelaid, and passages stopped, he swam 
through rivers to reach a meeting ; "and now," said 



-Q2 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661 

he, " that I am grown old in the profession of religion, 
and have long been an instructor and encourager of 
others, that I should thus shamefully fall short myself, 
is matter of shame and sorrow to me." Thus he 
bewailed himself to her ; and when we came back, he 
renewed his complaints of himself to us, with high 
aggravations of his own cowardice. Which gave occa- 
sion to some of the Friends, tenderly to represent to 
him the difference between profession and possession, 
form and power. 

He was glad, he said, on our behalf, that we came 
off so well, and escaped imprisonment. But when he 
understood that George Whitehead and I were liable 
to an after-reckoning next morning, he was troubled, 
and wished the morning was come and gone, that we 
might be gone with it. 

We spent the evening in grave conversation, and 
in religious discourses, attributing the deliverance we 
hitherto had to the Lord. And the next morning, 
when we were up and had eaten, we tarried some time 
to see what the justice would do further with us, and 
to discharge our engagement to him ; the rest of the 
Friends, who were before fully discharged, tarrying 
also with us to see the event. And when we had stayed 
so long, that on all hands it was concluded we might 
safely go, George Whitehead and I left a few words in 
writing, to be sent to the justice, if he sent after us, 
importing that Ave had tarried till such an hour, and 
not hearing from him, did now hold ourselves free to 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. H3 

depart ; yet so, as that if he should have occasion to 
send for us again, upon notice thereof we would return. 

This done, we took our leave of the family, and one 
of another ; they who were for London taking horse, 
and I and my companions setting forth on foot for 
Oxfordshire, went to Wycombe, w T here we made a short 
stay, to rest and refresh ourselves, and from thence 
reached our respective homes that night. 

After I had spent some time at home, where, as I 
had no restraint, so, my sisters being gone, I had now 
no society, I walked up to Chalfont again, and spent 
a few days with my friends there. As soon as I came 
in, I was told that my father had been there that day 
to see Isaac Penington and his wife ; but they being 
abroad at a meeting, he returned to his inn in the 
town, where he intended to lodge that night. After 
supper, Mary Penington told me she had a mind to go 
and see him at his inn, the woman of the house being 
a friend of ours ; and I w T ent with her. . He seemed 
somewhat surprised to see me there, because he thought 
I had been at home at his house ; but he took no notice 
of my hat, at least showed no offence at it ; for, as I 
afterwards understood, he had now an intention to sell 
his estate, and thought he should need my concurrence 
therein, which made him now hold it necessary to 
admit me again into some degree of favour. After we 
had tarried some little time with him, she rising up to 
be gone, he waited on her home, and having spent about 
an hour with us in the family, I waited on him back to 
his inn. On the way, he invited me to come up to 
10* 



2^4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

London to see my sisters, the younger of whom was 
then newly married, and directed me w r here to find 
them, and also gave me money to defray my charges. 
Accordingly I went ; yet stayed not long there, but re- 
turned to my friend Isaac Penington's, where I made a 
little stay, and from thence went back to Crowell. 

When I was ready to set forth, Isaac Penington was 
so kind as to send a servant, with a brace of geldings, 
to carry me as far as I thought fit to ride, and to bring 
the horses back. I, intending to go no further that 
day than to Wycombe, rode no further than to Beacons- 
field town's end, having then but five miles to walk. 
But here a new exercise befel me, the manner of which 
was thus. Before I had walked to the middle of the 
tow T n, I was stopped and taken up by the watch. I 
asked the watchman what authority he had to stop me, 
travelling peaceably on the highway ; he told me he 
would show me his authority, and in order thereunto 
had me into a house hard by, where dwelt a scrivener 
whose name was Pepys. To him he gave the order 
which he had received from the constables, which 
directed him to take up all rogues, vagabonds, and 
sturdy beggars. I asked him for, which of these he 
stopped me, but he could not answer me. 

I thereupon informed him what a rogue in law is, 
viz., one, who for some notorious offence was burnt on 
the shoulder ; and I told them they might search me 
if they pleased, and see if I w T as so branded. A vaga- 
bond, I told them, was one that had no dw r elling~house, 
nor certain place of abode; but I had, and w r as going 



1661 J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. H5 

to it, and I told them where it was. And for a beggar, 
I bid them bring any one that could say I had begged, 
or asked relief. 

This stopped the fellow's mouth, yet he would not 
let me go ; but, being both weak-headed and strong- 
willed, he left me there with the scrivener, and went 
out to seek the constable ; and having found him, he 
brought him thither. He was a young man, by trade 
a tanner, somewhat better mannered than his wards- 
man, but not of much better judgment. He took me 
with him to his house ; and having settled me there, 
went out to take advice, as I supposed, what to do with 
me, leaving nobody in the house to guard me but his 
wife, who had a young child in her arms. She inquired 
of me upon what account I was taken up, and seeming 
to have some pity for me, endeavoured to persuade me 
not to stay, but to go my way, offering to show me a" 
back way from their house, which would bring me into 
the road again beyond the town, so that none of the 
town should see me, or know what was become of me. 
But I told her I could not do so. Then having sat a 
while in a muse, she asked me if there was not a place 
in Scripture which said Peter was at a tanner's house, 
I told her there was such a Scripture, and directed her 
where to find it. 

After some time she laid her child to sleep in the 
cradle, and stepped out on a sudden, but came not in 
again in a pretty while. 

I was uneasy that I was left alone in the house, fear- 
ing lest if anything should be missing, I might be sua- 



11Q THE HISTORY OF THE [1661. 

pected to have taken it ; yet I durst not go out to stand 
in the street, lest it should be thought I intended to 
slip away. Bat besides that, I soon found work to 
employ myself in, for the child quickly waking, fell to 
crying, and I was fain to rock the cradle in my own 
defence, that I might not be annoyed with a noise, to 
me not more unpleasant than unusual. At length the 
woman came in again, and finding me nursing the 
child, gave me many thanks, and seemed w r ell pleased 
with my company. 

When night came on, the constable himself came in 
again, and told me, some of the chief of the town were 
met together, to consider what was fit to do with me, 
and that I must go with him to them. I went, and he 
brought me to a nasty little hut, which they called a 
town-house, adjoining to their market-house, in which 
dwelt a poor old woman, whom they called Mother 
Grime, where also the w 7 atch used by turns to come in 
and warm themselves in the night. 

When I came in among them, they looked, some of 
them, somewhat sourly on me, and asked me some 
impertinent questions, to which I gave them suitable 
answers. Then they consulted one with another how 
they should dispose of me that night, till they could 
have me before some justice of peace to be examined. 

Some proposed that I should be had to an inn, or 
other public house, and a guard set on me there. He 
that started this was probably an innkeeper, and con- 
sulted his own interest. Others objected against this, 
that it would bring a charge on the town ; to avoid 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. H7 

which, they were for having the watch take charge of 
me, and keep me walking about the streets with them 
till morning ; most voices seemed to go this way, till a 
third wished them to consider whether they could 
answer the doing of that, and the law would bear them 
out in it : and this put them to a stand. I heard all 
their debates, but let them alone, and kept my mind to 
the Lord. 

While they thus bandied the matter to and fro, one 
of the company asked the rest, if any of them knew 
who this young man was, and whither he was going ; 
whereupon the constable, to w T hom I had given both 
my name and the name of the town where I dwelt, 
told them my name was Ellwood, and that I lived at a 
town called Crowell in Oxfordshire. Old Mother 
Grime, sitting by and hearing this, clapped her hand 
on her knee, and cried out, " I know Mr. Ellwood of 
Crowell very well ; for when I was a maid I lived with 
his grandfather there, when he was a young man." 
And thereupon she gave them such an account of my 
father, as made them look more regardfully on me ; 
and so Mother Grime's testimony turned the scale, and 
took me off from walking the rounds with the watch 
that night. 

The constable hereupon bid them take no further 
care, I should lie at his house that night, and accord- 
ingly took me home with him, where I had as good 
accommodation as the house did afford. Before I 
went to bed, he told me that there was to be a visita- 
tion, or spiritual court, as he called it, holden next day 



H$ THE HISTORY OF THE [I661. 

at Amersham, about four miles from Beaconsfield, and 
that I was to be carried thither. This was a new thing 
to me, and it brought a fresh exercise upon my mind. 
But being given up, in the will of God, to suffer w T hat 
he should permit to be laid on me, I endeavoured to 
keep my mind quiet. 

In the morning, as soon as I was up, my spirit was 
exercised towards the Lord, in strong cries to him, 
that he would stand by me, and preserve me, and not 
suffer me to be taken in a snare of the wicked. 
While I was thus crying to the Lord, the other con- 
stable came, and I was called down. This was a 
budge fellow, and talked high. He was a shoe-maker 
by trade, and his name was Clark. He threatened me 
with the spiritual court. But when he saw I did not 
regard it, he stopped, and left the matter to his 
partner, who pretended more kindness for me, and 
therefore went about to persuade Clark to let me go 
out at the back door, and so slip away. 

The plot, I suppose, was so laid, that Clark should 
seem averse, but at length yield ; which he did, but 
would have me take it for a favour. But I was so far 
from taking it so, that I would not take it at all, but 
told them plainly, that as I came in at the fore door, 
so I would go out at the fore door. When, therefore, 
they saw they could not bow me to their will, they 
brought me out at the fore door into the street, and 
wished me a good journey. Yet before I went, calling 
for the woman of the house, I paid her for my supper 



1661.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOP. 119 

and lodging, for I had now got a little money in my 
pocket again. 

After this I got home, as I thought, very well ; but 
I had not been long at home before an illness seized 
on me, which proved to be the small-pox. Of which, 
as soon as Friends had notice, I had a nurse sent 
me ; and in a while Isaac Penington, and his wife's 
daughter, Gulielma Maria Springett, to whom I had 
been playfellow in our infancy, came to visit me, 
bringing with them our dear friend Edward Burrough, 
by whose ministry I had been called to the knowledge 
of the Truth. 

It pleased the Lord to deal favourably with me in 
this illness, both inwardly and outwardly. For his 
supporting presence was with me, which kept my 
spirit near unto him ; and though the distemper was 
strong upon me, yet I was preserved through it, and 
my countenance was not much altered by it. But 
after I was got up again, and while I kept my chamber, 
wanting some employment for entertainment's sake, 
to spend the time with, and there being at hand a 
pretty good library of books, amongst which were 
the works of Augustine, and others of those ancient 
writers, who were by many called the fathers, I betook 
myself to reading. And these books being printed 
in the old black letter, with abbreviations of the 
words, difficult to be read, I spent too much time 
therein, and thereby much impaired my sight, which 
was not strong before, and was now weaker than usual 
by reason of the illness I had so newly had. This 



220 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

proved an injury to me afterwards; for which reason 1 
here mention it. 

After I was well enough to go abroad, with respect 
to my own health and the safety of others, I went up, 
in the beginning of the twelfth month, 1661, to my 
beloved friend, Isaac Penington's at Chalfont, and 
abode there some time, for the airing myself more 
fully, that I might be more fit for conversation. 



CHAPTER IV. 

1662. 

Resumption of study — Dr. Paget — John Milton — A solitary winter — 
Goes to London to read with Milton — Failing health — Sickness at J. 
Raunce's — Return to London — Arrest at Bull and Mouth Meeting — 
March to Old Bridewell — Interior of Prison — Whipping-post — Care 
of women Friends for the prisoners — Patient submission — Spare diet — 
Bed of Rushes — Sir Richard Brown — Unexpected relief — Tailoring in 
prison — Poor wages — The poor cobbler — Sessions at the Old Bailey — 
The oath of Allegiance — A new Plea — Change to Newgate — Close con- 
finement — Death of a prisoner — Coroner's Jury — Intractable Foreman 
— The Bridewell prisoners sent back to their old quarters — The sham 
Quaker detected — The rogues and pickpockets of Newgate — Shocking 
treatment of the bodies of three executed plotters — Improved treat- 
ment at Bridewell — Hymn to God — Discharge from prison — Goes into 
Buckinghamshire — Becomes teacher for I. Penington's children — Death 
of E. Burrough. 

I mentioned before, that when I was a boy, I had 
made some good progress in learning, and lost it all 
again before I came to be a man ; nor was I rightly 
sensible of my loss therein, until I came amongst the 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 121 

Quakers. But then I both saw my loss, and lamented 
it; and applied myself with utmost diligence, at all 
leisure times, to recover it ; so false I found that charge 
to be, which in those times was cast as a reproach upon 
the Quakers, that they despised and decried all human 
learning, because they denied it to be essentially ne- 
cessary to a gospel ministry, which was one of the con- 
troversies of those times. 

But though I toiled hard, and spared no pains to 
regain what once I had been master of, yet I found it 
a matter of so great difficulty, that I was ready to 
say, as the noble eunuch to Philip in another case, 
u How can I, unless I had some man to guide me ?" 

This I had formerly complained of to my especial 
friend Isaac Penington, but now more earnestly, which 
put him upon considering, and contriving a means for 
my assistance. 

He had an intimate acquaintance with Dr. Paget, a 
physician of note in London, and he with John Milton, 
a gentleman of great note for learning throughout the 
learned world, for the accurate pieces he had written 
on various subjects and occasions. 

This person, having filled a public station in the 
former times, lived now a private and retired life in 
London ; and having wholly lost his sight, kept alwa'ys 
a man to read to him, usually the son of some gentle- 
man of his acquaintance, whom, in kindness, he took 
to improve in his learning. 

Thus, by the mediation of my friend Isaac Pening- 
ton with Dr. Paget, and of Dr. Paget with John 
11 



|,22 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 

Milton, was I admitted to come to him, not as a ser- 
vant to him, (which at that time he needed not) nor to be 
in the house with him, but only to have the liberty of 
coming to his house at certain hours when I would, 
and to read to him what books he should appoint me, 
which was all the favour I desired. But this being a 
matter which would require some time to bring it 
about, I, in the mean while, returned to my father's 
house in Oxfordshire. 

I had before received direction, by letters from my 
eldest sister, written by my father's command, to put 
off what cattle he had left about his house, and to dis- 
charge his servants ; which I had done at the time 
called Michaelmas before. So that all that winter, 
when I was at home, I lived like a hermit all alone, 
having a pretty large house, and nobody in it but my- 
self, at nights especially. But an elderly woman, 
whose father had been an old servant to the family, 
came every morning and made my bed, and did what 
else I had occasion for her to do, till I fell ill of the 
small-pox, and then I had her with me, and the nurse. 
But now, understanding by letter from my sister, that 
my father did not intend to return to settle there, I 
made off those provisions which were in the house, that 
they might not be spoiled when I w^as gone ; and be- 
cause they were what I should have spent, if I had 
tarried there, I took the money made of them to my- 
self, for my support in London, if the project suc- 
ceeded for my going thither. 

This done, I committed the care of the house to a 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 123 

tenant of my father's, who lived in the town, and 
taking my leave of Crowell, went up to my sure friend 
Isaac Penington again. Where understanding that the 
mediation used for my admittance to John Milton had 
succeeded so well, that I might come when I would, 
I hastened to London, and in the first place went to 
w T ait upon him. He received me courteously, as well 
for the sake of ^Dr. Paget, who introduced me, as of 
Isaac Penington, who recommended me ; to both whom 
he bore a good respect. And having inquired divers 
things of me, with respect to my former progression in 
learning, he dismissed me, to provide myself of such 
accommodation as might be most suitable to my future 
studies. I went therefore and took myself a lodging 
as near to his house, which was then in Jewen-street, 
as conveniently I could : and from thenceforward w^ent 
every day in the afternoon, except on the first-days of 
the week ; and sitting by him in his dining-room, read 
to him in such books in the Latin tongue as he pleased 
to hear me read. 

At my first sitting to read to him, observing that I 
used the English pronunciation, he told me, if I w r ould 
have the benefit of the Latin tongue, not only to read 
and understand Latin authors, but to converse with 
foreigners either abroad or at home, I must learn 
the foreign pronunciation. To this I consenting, he 
instructed me how to sound the vowels ; so different 
from the common pronunciation used by the English, 
who speak Anglice their Latin, that (with some few 
other variations in sounding some consonants, in par- 



J 24 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

ticular cases, — as c before e or i, like ch, sc before i. 
like sA, &c.,) the Latin thus spoken seemed as different 
from that which was delivered as the English generally 
speak it, as if it were another language. 

I had before, during my retired life at my father's, 
by unwearied diligence and industry, so far recovered 
the rules of grammar, in which I had once been very 
ready, that I could both read a Latin author, and after 
a sort, hammer out his meaning. But this change of 
pronunciation proved a new difficulty to me ; it was 
now harder to me to read, than it was before to under- 
stand when read. But 

" Incessant pains the end obtains." 

And so did I ; which made my reading the more 
acceptable to my master. He, on the other hand, 
perceiving with what earnest desire I pursued learning, 
gave me not only all the encouragement, but all the 
help he could. For, having a curious ear, he under- 
stood by my tone when I understood what I red^Band 
when I did not ; and accordingly would stolne, 
examine me, and open the most difficult passagBto 
me. Thus went I on for about six weeks' time, reel- 
ing to him in the afternoons ; and exercising myself 
with my own books in my chamber, in the forenoons, I 
was sensible of an improvement. 

But, alas! I had fixed my studies in a wrong place. 
London and I could never agree for health ; my lungs, 
as I suppose, were too tender to bear the sulphurous 
air of that city, so that I soon began to droop ; and 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 125 

in less than two months' time, I was fain to leave 
both my studies and the city, and return into the 
country to preserve life ; and much ado I had to get 
thither. 

I chose to go to Wycombe, and to John Baunce's 
house there ; both as he was a physician, and his wife 
an honest, hearty, discreet, and grave matron, of 
whom I had a very good esteem, and who I knew had 
a good regard for me. There I lay ill a considerable 
time, and in that degree of weakness, that scarce any 
who saw me expected my life. But the Lord was 
both gracious to me in my illness, and was pleased 
to raise me up again, that I might serve him in my 
generation. 

As soon as I had recovered so much strength as to 
be fit to travel, I obtained of my father (who was then 
at his house in Crowell, to dispose of some things he 
had there, and who in my illness had come to see me,) 
so much money as would clear all charges in the 
house, for both physic, food, and attendance; and 
having fully discharged all, I took leave of my friends 
in that family, and in the town, and returned to my 
studies at London. 

I was very kindly received by my master, who had 
conceived so good an opinion of me, that my conver- 
sation I found was acceptable to him, and he seemed 
heartily glad of my recovery and return; and into 
our old method of study we fell again, I reading to 
him, and he explaining to me, as occasion required. 

But, as if learning had been a forbidden fruit to 
11* 



126 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

me, scarce was I well settled *in my work, before I 
met with another diversion, which turned me quite 
out of it. For a sudden storm arising, from I know 
not what surmise of a plot, and thereby danger to the 
government, the meetings of Dissenters (such I mean 
as could be found, which perhaps were not many 
besides the Quakers) were broken up throughout the 
city, and the prisons mostly filled with our Friends. 

I was, that morning, which was the 26th day of the 
eighth month, 1662, at the meeting at the Bull and 
Mouth, by Aldersgate, when on a sudden a party of 
soldiers, of the trained bands of the city, rushed in, 
with noise and clamour, being led by one who was 
called Major Rosewell, an apothecary (if I misre- 
member not), and at that time under the ill name of a 
Papist. As soon as he was come within the room, 
having a file or two of musketeers at his heels, he 
commanded his men to present their muskets at us, 
which they did, with intent, I suppose, to strike a 
terror into the people. Then he made a proclamation, 
that all who were not Quakers might depart if they 
would. 

It so happened, that a young man, an apprentice in 
London, whose name was Dove, the son of Dr. Dove, 
of Chinner, near Crowell, in Oxfordshire, came that 
day in curiosity to see the meeting ; and coming 
early, and finding me there (whom he knew) came and 
sat down by me. As soon as he heard the noise of 
soldiers, he was much startled, and asked me softly if 
I would not shift for myself, and try to get out. I 






1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 127 

told him no ; I was in my place, and was willing to 
suffer if it was my lot.. When he heard the notice 
given, that they who were not Quakers might depart, 
he solicited me again to be gone. I told him I could 
not do so, for that would be to renounce my profes- 
sion, which I would by no means do. But as for him, 
who was not one of us, he might do as he pleased. 
Whereupon, wishing me well, he turned away, and 
with cap in hand, went out. And truly I was glad 
he was gone, for his master was a rigid Presbyterian, 
who in all likelihood would have led him a wretched 
life, had he been taken and imprisoned among the 
Quakers. 

The soldiers came so early, that the meeting was 
not fully gathered when they came ; and, when the 
mixed company were gone out, we were so few, and sat 
so thin in that large room, that they might take a clear 
view of us all, and single us out as they pleased. He 
that commanded the party gave us first a general 
charge to come out of the room. But we, who came 
thither at God's requirings, to worship him, like that 
good man of old, who said, " We ought to obey God 
rather than men," stirred not, but kept our places. 
Whereupon, he sent some of his soldiers among us, 
with command to drag or drive us out, which they did 
roughly enough. 

When we came out into the street, we were received 
there by other soldiers, who, with their pikes holden 
lengthways from one to another, compassed us round 
as sheep in a pound ; and there we stood a pretty 



228 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1602, 

time, while they were picking up more to add to our 
number. In this work none seemed so eager and 
active as their leader, Major Rosewell. Which I 
observing, stepped boldly to him, as he was passing by 
me, and asked him if he intended a massacre ; for of 
that, in those times, there was a great apprehension 
and talk. The suddenness of the question, from such 
a young man especially, somewhat startled him ; but 
recollecting himself, he answered, " No ; but I intend 
to have you all hanged by the wholesome laws of the 
land/ 1 

When he had gotten as many as he could, or thought 
fit, wdrich were in number thirty-two, (whereof two w T ere 
catched up in the street, who had not been at the 
meeting) he ordered the pikes to be opened before us ; 
and giving the word to march, went himself at the head 
of us, the soldiers with their pikes making a lane to 
keep us from scattering. 

He led us up Martins, and so turned down to New- 
gate, where I expected he would have lodged us. But 
to my disappointment, he went on through Newgate, 
and turning through the Old Bailey, brought us into 
Fleet-street. I w T as then wholly at a loss to conjecture 
whither he would lead us, unless it were to Whitehall, 
for I knew nothing then of Old Bridewell ; but on a 
sudden he gave a short turn, and brought us before 
the gate of that prison, where knocking, the wicket 
was forthwith opened, and the master, with his porter, 
ready to receive us. One of those two who were picked 
up in the street, being near me, and telling me his 



1562.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 129 

case, I stepped to the Major, and told him this man 
was not at the meeting, but was taken up in the street ; 
and showed him how hard and unjust a thing it would 
be to put him into prison. 

I had not pleased him before, in the question I had 
put to him about a massacre ; and that, I suppose, 
made this solicitation less acceptable to him from me, 
than it might have been from some other. For looking 
sternly on me, he said, " Who are you, that take so 
much upon you ? seeing you* are so busy, you shall be 
the first man that shall go into Bridewell ;" and taking 
me by the shoulders, he thrust me in. As soon as I 
was in, the porter pointing with his finger, directed me 
to a fair pair of stairs on the further side of a large 
court, and bid me go up those stairs, and go on till I 
could go no further. 

Accordingly I went up the stairs ; the first flight 
whereof brought me to a fair chapel on my left hand, 
w r hich I could look into through the iron grates, but 
could not have gone into if I would. I knew that 
w r as not a place for me ; wherefore following my 
direction, and the winding of the stairs, I went up a 
story higher, which brought me into a room, that I 
soon perceived to be a court-room, or place of judica- 
ture. After I had stood awhile there, and taken a 
view of it, observing a door on the further side, I went 
to it and opened it, with intention to go in, but I 
quickly drew back, being almost affrighted at the dis- 
malness of the place. For, besides, that the w^alls 
quite round were laid all over, from top to bottom, in 



x gg THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

black, there stood in the middle of it a great whipping- 
post, which was all the furniture it had. 

In one of these two rooms judgment w T as given, and 
in the other it was executed on those ill people, who 
for their lewdness were sent to this prison, and there 
sentenced to be whipped. Which was so contrived, 
that the court might not only hear, but see, if they 
pleased, their sentence executed. 

A sight so unexpected, and withal so unpleasing, 
gave me no encouragement either to rest, or indeed to 
enter at all there ; till looking earnestly, I espied, on 
the opposite side, a door, which giving me hopes of a 
further progress, I adventured to step hastily to it, 
and opened it. This let me into one of the fairest 
rooms that, so far as I remember, I was ever in ; and 
no wonder, for though it was now put to this mean 
use, it had, for many ages past, been the royal seat or 
palace of the kings of England, until Cardinal Wolsey 
built Whitehall, and offered it as a peace-offering to 
king Henry the 8th, who until that time had kept his 
court in this house, and had this, as the people in the 
house reported, for bis dining-room, by which name it 
then w r ent. 

This room in length, for I lived long enough in it to 
have time to measure it, was three-score feet, and had 
breadth proportionable to it. In it, on the front side, 
were very large bay windows, in which stood a large 
table. It had other very large tables in it, with benches 
round ; and at that time the floor was covered with 
rushes, against some solemn festival, which I heard it 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 131 

was bespoken for. Here was my nil ultra, and here I 
found I might set up my pillar ; for although there 
was a door out of it, to a back pair of stairs which led 
to it, yet that was kept locked. So that finding I had 
now followed my keeper's direction to the utmost 
point, beyond which I could not go, I sat down, and 
considered the rhetorical saying, — " That the way to 
Heaven layby the gate of Hell;" the black room, 
through which I passed into this, bearing some resem- 
blance to the latter, as this comparatively, and by way 
of allusion, might in some sort be thought to bear to 
the former. 

But I was quickly put out of these thoughts by the 
flocking in of the other Friends, my fellow-prisoners ; 
amongst whom yet, when all were come together, 
there was but one whom I knew so much as by face ; 
and with him I had no acquaintance. For I having 
been but a little while in the city, and in that time 
kept close to my studies, I was by that means known 
to very few. 

Soon after w^e were all gotten together, came up the 
master of the house after us, and demanded our 
names ; which we might reasonably have refused to 
give, till we had been legally convened before some 
civil magistrate, who had power to examine us, and 
demand our names ; but we, who were neither guileful 
nor wilful, simply gave him our names, which he took 
down in writing. 

It was, as I hinted before, a general storm which 
fell that day, but it lighted most, and most heavy, 



239 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

upon our meetings ; so that most of our men Friends 
were made prisoners, and the prisons generally filled. 
And great work had the women to run about from 
prison to prison to find their husbands, their fathers, 
their brothers, or their servants ; for accordingly as 
they had disposed themselves to several meetings, so 
were they dispersed to several prisons. And no less 
care and pains had they, when they had found them, to 
furnish them with provisions, and other necessary 
accommodations. But an excellent order, even in 
those early days, w r as practised among the Friends of 
that city, by which there were certain Friends of 
either sex appointed to have the oversight of the 
prisons in every quarter; and to take care of all 
Friends, the poor especially, that should be committed 
there. 

This prison of Bridewell was under the care of two 
honest, grave, discreet, and motherly women, whose 
names were Anne Merrick, (afterwards Vivers,) and 
Anne Travers, both widows. They, so soon as they 
understood that there were Friends brought into that 
prison, provided some hot victuals, meat, and broth, 
for the weather was cold; and ordering their servants 
to bring it, with bread, cheese, and beer, came them- 
selves also with it, and having placed it on a table, 
gave notice to us, that it was provided for all those 
that had not others to provide for them, or were not 
able to provide for themselves. And there w r anted not 
among us a competent number of such guests. 

As for my part, though I had lived as frugally as I 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 133 

possibly could, that I might draw out the thread of my 
little stock to the utmost length, yet had I by this time 
reduced it to tenpence, which was all the money I had 
about me, or any where else at my command. This 
was but a small estate to enter upon an imprison- 
ment with, yet w T as I not at all discouraged at it, nor 
had I a murmuring thought. I had known what it was 
moderately to abound, and if I should now come to 
suffer want, I knew I ought to be content ; and through 
the grace of God I was so. I had lived by Providence 
before, when for a long time I had no money at all, 
and I had always found the Lord a good provider. I 
made no doubt, therefore, that He who sent the ravens 
to feed Elijah, and who clothes the lilies, would find 
some means to sustain me with needful food and 
raiment ; and I had learned by experience the truth 
of that saying, "Nature is content with few things." 

Although the sight and smell of hot food was suffi- 
ciently enticing to my empty stomach, for I had eaten 
little that morning, and was hungry, yet considering 
the terms of the invitation, I questioned whether I was 
included in it ; and after some reasonings, at length 
concluded, that while I had tenpence in my pocket I 
should be an injurious intruder to that mess, which was 
provided for such as perhaps had not twopence in 
theirs. Being come to this resolution, I withdrew as 
far from the table as I could, and sat down in a quiet 
retirement of mind, till the repast was over ; which was 
not long, for there were hands enough at it to make 
light work of it. 
12 



134 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 

When evening came, the porter came up the back 
stairs, and opening the door, told us, if we desired to 
have anything that was to be had in the house, he 
would bring it us ; for there was in the house a chand- 
ler's shop, at which beer, bread, butter, cheese, eggs, 
and bacon, might be had for money. Upon which 
many went to him, and spake for what of these things 
they had a mind to, giving him money to pay for them. 
Among the rest went I, and intending to spin out my 
tenpence as far as I could, desired him to bring me a 
penny loaf only. When he returned, we all resorted 
to him to receive our several provisions, which he 
delivered ; and when he came to me, he told me he 
could not get a penny loaf, but he had brought me two 
halfpenny loaves. This suited me better : wherefore 
returning to my place again, I sat down and eat up one 
of my loaves, reserving the other for the next day. 
This was to me both dinner and supper ; and so well 
satisfied I was with it, that I could willingly then have 
gone to bed, if I had had one to go to; but that was 
not to be expected there, nor had any one any bedding 
brought in that night. 

Some of the company had been so considerate as to 
send for a pound of candles, that we might not sit all 
night in the dark; and having lighted divers of them, 
and placed them in several parts of that large room, 
we kept walking to keep us warm. 

After I had warmed myself pretty thoroughly, and 
the evening avas pretty far spent, I bethought myself 
of a lodging, and cast mine eye on the table which 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 135 

stood in the bay window, the frame whereof looked I 
thought somewhat like a bedstead. Wherefore, willing 
to make sure of that, I gathered up a good armful of 
the rushes wherewith the floor was covered, and spread- 
ing them under that table, crept in upon them in my 
clothes, and keeping on my hat, laid my head upon 
one end of the table's frame instead of a bolster. My 
example w T as followed by the rest, who gathering up 
rushes as I had done, made themselves beds in other 
parts of the room ; and so to rest we went. 

I having a quiet easy mind was soon asleep, and 
slept till about the middle of the night ; and then 
waking, finding my feet and legs very cold, I crept out 
of my cabin, and began to walk about apace. This 
waked and raised all the rest, who finding themselves 
cold as well as I, got up and walked about with me, 
till we had pretty well warmed ourselves ; and then we 
all lay down again, and rested till morning. 

Next day, all they who had families, or belonged to 
families, had bedding brought in, of one sort or other, 
which they disposed at the ends and sides of the room, 
leaving the middle void to walk in. But I, who had 
nobody to look after 'me, kept to my rushy pallet under 
the table for four nights together, in which time I did 
not put off my clothes ; yet, through the merciful 
goodness of God unto me, I rested and slept well, and 
enjoyed health, without taking cold. 

In this time divers of our company, through the 
solicitations of some of their relations or acquaintance 
to Sir Richard Brown, (who was at that time a great 



136 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 

master of misrule in the city, and over Bridewell more 
especially) were released ; and among these one William 
Mucklow, who lay in a hammock. He, having observed 
that I only was unprovided with lodging, came very 
courteously to me, and kindly offered me the use of 
his hammock while I should continue a prisoner. This 
was a providential accommodation to me, which I 
received thankfully, both from the Lord and from him ; 
and from henceforth I thought I lay as well as ever 
I had done in my life. 

Amongst those that remained, there were several 
young men who cast themselves into a club, and laying 
down every one an equal proportion of money, put it 
into the hand of our friend Anne Travers, desiring her 
to lay it out for them in provisions, and send them in 
every day a mess of hot meat ; and they kindly invited 
me to come into their club with them. These saw my 
person, and judged of me by that, but they saw not my 
purse, nor understood the lightness of my pocket. But 
I, who alone understood my own condition, knew I 
must sit clown with lower commons. Wherefore, not 
giving them the true reason, I, as fairly as I could, 
excused myself from entering at present into their 
mess, and went on as before to eat by myself, and that 
very sparingly, as my stock would bear. And before 
my tenpence was quite spent, Providence, on whom I 
relied, sent me in a fresh supply. For William Pening- 
ton, a brother of Isaac Penington, a Friend and mer- 
chant in London, at whose house, before I came to live 
in the city, I was wont to lodge, having been at his 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. \^J 

brother's that clay upon a visit, escaped this storm, and 
so was at liberty ; and understanding when he came 
back what had been done, bethought himself of me ; 
and upon inquiry hearing where I was, came in love to 
see me. In discourse, amongst other things, he asked 
me how it was with me as to money, and how well I 
was furnished. I told him I could not boast of much, 
and yet I could not say I had none ; though what I 
then had was indeed next to none. Whereupon he 
put twenty shillings into my hand, and desired me to 
accept of that for the present. I saw a Divine Hand 
in thus opening his heart and hand in this manner to 
me. And though I would willingly have been excused 
from taking so much, and would have returned one 
half of it, yet he pressing it all upon me, I received it 
with a thankful acknowledgment, as a token of love 
from the Lord and from him. 

On the seventh day he went down again, as he 
usually did, to his brother's house at Chalfont, and in 
discourse gave them an account of my imprisonment. 
Whereupon, at his return on the second day of the 
week following, my affectionate friend Mary Penington 
sent me by him forty shillings, which he soon after 
brought me ; out of which I would have repaid him the 
twenty shillings he had so kindly furnished me with, 
but he would not admit it, telling me I might have oc- 
casion for that and more before I got my liberty. 

Not many days after this, I received twenty shillings 
from my father, who being then at his house in Oxford- 
shire, and, by letter from my sister, understanding that 
12* 



138 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

I was a prisoner in Bridewell, sent this money to me 
for my support there ; and withal a letter to my sister, 
for her to deliver to one called Mr. Wray, who lived 
near Bridewell, and was a servant to Sir Richard 
Brown, in some wharf of his, requesting him to inter- 
cede with his master, who was one of the governors of 
Bridewell, for my deliverance. But that letter coming 
to my hands, I suppressed it, and have it yet by me. 

Now was my pocket from the lowest ebb risen to a 
full tide. I was at the brink of want, next door to 
nothing, yet my confidence did not fail, nor my faith 
stagger; and now on a sudden I had plentiful supplies, 
shower upon shower, so that I abounded, yet was not 
lifted up ; but in humility could say, " This is the 
Lord's doing." And, without defrauding any of the 
instruments of the acknowledgments due unto them, 
mine eye looked over and beyond them to the Lord, 
who I saw was the author thereof, and prime agent 
therein ; and w T ith a thankful heart I returned thanks- 
givings and praises to him. And this great goodness 
of the Lord to me I thus record, to the end, that all 
into whose hands this may come may be encouraged to 
trust in the Lord, whose mercy is over all his works, 
and w^ho is indeed a God near at hand, to help in the 
needful time. Now I durst venture into the club, to 
which I had been invited ; and accordingly, having by 
this time gained an acquaintance with them, I took an 
opportunity to cast myself among them ; and thence- 
forward, so long as we continued prisoners there toge- 
ther, I was one of their mess. 



1662.] LIFE O 1 ? THOMAS ELLWOOD. ^39 

And now the chief thing I wanted was employment, 
which scarce any wanted but myself; for the rest of 
my company were generally tradesmen, of such trades 
as could set themselves on work. Of these divers were 
tailors, some masters, some journeymen, and with these 
I mostly inclined to settle. But because I was too 
much a novice in their art to be trusted with their 
work, lest I should spoil the garment, I got work from 
an hosier in Cheapside, which was to make night- waist- 
coats, of red and yellow flannel, for women and chil- 
dren. And with this I entered myself among the tail- 
ors, setting cross-legged as they did, and so spent those 
leisure hours with innocency and pleasure, which want 
of business would have made tedious. And indeed 
that was in a manner the only advantage I had by it ; 
for my master, though a very wealthy man, and one 
who professed not only friendship but particular kind- 
ness to me, dealt I thought but hardly with me. For, 
though he knew not what I had to subsist by, he never 
offered me a penny for my work till I had done work- 
ing for him, and went after I was released, to give him 
a visit ; and then he would not reckon with me neither, 
because as he smilingly said, he would not let me so 
far into his trade, as to acquaint me with the prices of 
the work, but would be sure to give me enough. And 
thereupon he gave me one crown piece, and no more ; 
though I had wrought long for him, and made him 
many dozens of waistcoats, and bought the thread my- 
self; which I thought was very poor pay. But, as 
Providence had ordered it, I wanted the work more 



240 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

than the wages, and therefore took what he gave me, 
without complaining. 

About this time, while w T e were prisoners in our fair 
chamber, a Friend was brought and put in among us, 
who had been sent thither by Richard Brown, to beat 
hemp ; whose case was thus. He was a very poor man, 
who lived by mending shoes ; and on a seventh-day 
night late, a carman, or some other such labouring 
man, brought him a pair of shoes to mend, desiring 
him to mend them that night, that he might have them 
in the morning, for he had no other to wear. The 
poor man sat up at work upon them till after midnight; 
and then, finding he could not finish them, he went to 
bed, intending to do the rest in the morning. 

Accordingly, he got up betimes ; and though he 
wrought as privately as he could in his chamber, that 
he might avoid giving offence to any, yet could he not 
do it so privately, but that an ill-natured neighbour 
perceived it, and went and informed against him for 
working on the Sunday. Whereupon he was had 
before Richard Brown, wiio committed him to Bride- 
well for a certain time, to be kept to hard labour in 
beating hemp, which is labour hard enough. 

It so fell out, that at the same time were committed, 
for what cause I do not now remember, two lusty young 
men who were called Baptists, to be kept also at the 
same labour. The Friend was a poor little man, of a 
low condition, and mean appearance ; whereas these 
two Baptists were topping blades, that looked high and 
Bpake big. They scorned to beat hemp, and made a 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. J4J 

pish at' the whipping-post; but when they had once felt 
the smart of it, they soon cried Peccavi, and submit- 
ting to the punishment, set their tender hands to the 
beetles. The Friend, on the other hand, acting upon 
a principle, as knowing he had done no evil for which 
he should undergo that punishment, refused to work, 
and for refusing was cruelly whipped ; which he bore 
with wonderful constancy and resolution of mind. 

The manner of whipping there is, to strip the party 
to the skin from the waist upwards, — and having then 
fastened him to the whipping-post, so that he can 
neither resist nor shun the strokes, — to lash the naked 
body with long but slender twigs of holly, which will 
bend almost like thongs, and wrap round the body; 
and these, having little knots upon them, tear the skin 
and flesh, and give extreme pain. With these rods 
they tormented the Friend most barbarously; and the 
more, for that having mastered the two braving Bap- 
tists, they disdained to be mastered by this poor 
Quaker. Yet were they fain at last to yield, when 
they saw that their utmost severity could not make him 
yield. And then, not willing to be troubled longer 
with him, they turned him up among us. 

When we had inquired of him how it was with him, 
and he had given us a brief account of both his cause 
and usage, — it came in my mind, that I had in my box 
(which I had sent for from my lodgings, to keep some 
few books and other necessaries in) a little gallipot with 
Lucatellu's balsam in it. Wherefore, causing a good 
fire to be made, and setting the Friend within a blanket 



142 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662 

before the fire, we stripped him to the waist, as if he 
had been to be whipped again, and found his skin so 
cut and torn with the knotty holly rods, both back, 
side, arm, and breast, that it w T as a dismal sight to look 
upon. Then melting some of the balsam, I with a 
feather anointed all the sores; and putting a softer 
cloth between his skin and his shirt, helped him on 
with his clothes again. This dressing gaye him much 
ease, and I continued it till he was well. And because 
he w T as a very poor man, we took him into our mess, 
contriving that there should always be enough for him 
as well as for ourselves. Thus he lived with us, until 
the time he was committed for was expired, and then he 
was released. 

But we were still continued prisoners by an arbitrary 
power, not being committed by the civil authority, nor 
having seen the face of any civil magistrate, from the 
day we were thrust in here by soldiers, which was the 
26th of the eighth month, to the 19th of the tenth 
month following. On that day we were had to the 
sessions at the Old Bailey. But not being called there, 
we were brought back to Bridewell, and continued 
there to the 29th of the same month, and then we were 
carried to the sessions again. I expected I should 
have been called the first, because my name was first 
taken down : but it proved otherwise, so that I was one 
of the last that was called. This gave me the advan- 
tage of hearing the pleas of the other prisoners, and 
discovering the temper of the court. 

The prisoners complained of the illegality of their 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 143 

imprisonment, and desired to know what they had lain 
so long in prison for. The court regarded nothing of 
that, and did not stick to tell them so. "For," said 
the Eecorder to them, "if you think yon have been 
wrongfully imprisoned, you have your remedy at law; 
and may take it, if you think it worth your while. The 
court," said he, u may send for any man out of the 
street, and tender him the oath. So we take no notice 
how T you came hither, but finding you here, we tender 
you the oath of allegiance ; which, if you refuse to 
take, we shall commit you, and at length praemunire 
you." Accordingly, as every one refused it, he was 
set aside, and another called. 

By this I saw it was in vain for me to insist upon 
false imprisonment, or ask the cause of my commit- 
ment ; though I had before furnished myself with some 
authorities and maxims of law on that subject, to have 
pleaded, if room had been given ; and I had the book, 
out of which I took them, in my bosom ; for the wea- 
ther being cold, I wore a gown girt about the middle, 
and had put the book within it. But I now resolved 
to waive all that, and insist upon another plea, which 
just then came into my mind. 

As soon therefore as I was called, I stepped nimbly 
to the bar, and stood up upon the stepping, that I might 
the better both hear, and be heard ; and laying my 
hands upon the bar, stood ready, expecting what they 
would say to me. I suppose they took me for a confi- 
dent young man, for they looked very earnestly upon 
me ; and we faced each other without words for a 



|44 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

while. At length the Recorder, who was called Sir 
John Howell, asked me if I would take the oath of 
allegiance. 

To which I answered, " I conceive this court hath 
not power to tender that oath to me, in the condition 
wherein I stand." 

This so unexpected plea, seemed to startle them, so 
that they looked one upon another, and said somewhat 
low one to another, "What! doth he demur to the 
jurisdiction of the court?" And thereupon the Re- 
corder asked me, " Do you then demur to the jurisdic- 
tion of the court?" "Not absolutely," answered I, 
" but conditionally, with respect to my present con- 
dition, and the circumstances I am now under." 

"Why, what is your present condition?" said the 
Recorder. "A prisoner," replied I. "And what is 
that," said he, "to your taking or not taking the oath?" 
" Enough," said I, "as I conceive, to exempt me from 
the tender thereof while I am under this condition." 
"Pray, what is your reason for that?" said he. 
"This," said I, "That, if I rightly understand the 
words of the statute, I am required to say, That I do 
take this Oath freely and without constraint ; which I 
cannot say, because I am not a free man, but in bonds, 
and under constraint. Wherefore I conceive, that if 
you would tender that oath to me, you ought first to 
set me free from my present imprisonment." 

"But," said the Recorder, "will you take the oath 
if you be set free?" "Thou shalt see that," said I, 
"when I am set free. Therefore set me free first, and 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 145 

then ask the question." "But," said he again, "you 
know your own mind sure ; and can tell now what you 
would do, if you were at liberty." "Yes," replied I, 
" that I can ; but I do not hold myself obliged to tell 
it until I am at liberty. Therefore set me at liberty, 
and you shall soon hear it." 

Thus we fenced a good while, till I was both weary 
of such trifling; and doubted also lest some of the 
standers by should suspect I would take it, if I was set 
at liberty. Wherefore, when the Kecorder put it upon 
me again, I told him plainly, No ; though I thought 
they ought not to tender it me, till I had been set at 
liberty ; yet if I was set at liberty, I could not take 
that, nor any other oath, because my Lord and Master 
Jesus Christ had expressly commanded his disciples, 
not to swear at all. 

As his command was enough to me, so this con- 
fession of mine was enough to them. " Take him 
away," said they; and away I was taken, and thrust 
into the bail-dock to my other friends, who had been 
called before me. And as soon as the rest of our 
company were called, and had refused to swear, we 
were all committed to Newgate, and thrust into the 
common side. 

When we came there, we found that side of the 
prison very full of Friends, who were prisoners there 
before, as indeed were, at that time, all the other parts 
of that prison, and most of the other prisons about 
the town ; and our addition caused a great throng on 
that side. Notwithstanding which, we were kindly 
13 



J 46 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

welcomed by our friends, whom we found there, and 
entertained by them, as well as their condition would 
admit, until we could get in our own accommodations, 
and provide for ourselves. 

We had the liberty of the hall, which is on the first 
story over the gate, and which, in the day-time, is 
common to all the prisoners on that side, felons as well 
as others, to walk in, and to beg out of; we had also 
the liberty of some other rooms over that hall, to walk 
or work in during the day. But at night we all lodged 
in one room, which was large and round, having in the 
middle of it a great pillar of oaken timber, which 
bore up the chapel that is over it. To this pillar we 
fastened our hammocks at the one end, and to the 
opposite wall on the other end, quite round the room, 
and in three degrees, or three stories high, one over 
the other; so that they who lay in the upper and 
middle row of hammocks, were obliged to go to bed 
first, because they were to climb up to the higher by 
getting into the lower. And under the lower rank of 
hammocks, by the wall sides, were laid beds upon the 
floor, in which the sick, and such weak persons as 
could not get into the hammocks, lay. And, indeed, 
though the room was large and pretty airy, yet the 
breath and steam that came from so many bodies, of 
different ages, conditions, and constitutions, packed up 
so close together, was enough to cause sickness 
amongst us, and I believe did so ; for there were 
many sick, and some very weak. Though we were 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 147 

not long there, yet in that time one of our fellow 
prisoners, who lay in one of those pallet-beds, died. 

This caused some bustle in the house. For the 
body of the deceased being laid out, and put into a 
coffin, was carried down and set in the room called the 
Lodge, that the coroner might inquire into the cause 
and manner of his death. And the manner of their 
doing it is thus. As soon as the coroner is come, the 
turnkeys run out into the street under the gate, and 
seize upon every man that passes by, till they have got 
enough to make up the coroner's inquest. And so 
resolute these rude fellows are, that if any man resist 
or dispute it with them, they drag him in by main 
force, not regarding what condition he is of. Nay, 
I have been told, they will not stick to stop a coach, 
and pluck the men out of it. It so happened, that at 
this time they lighted on an ancient man, a grave 
citizen, who was trudging through the gate in great 
haste ; and him they laid hold upon, telling him he 
must come in, and serve upon the coroner's inquest. 
He pleaded hard, begged and besought them to let 
him go, assuring them he was going on very urgent 
business, and that the stopping him would be greatly 
to his prejudice. But they were deaf to all his 
entreaties, and hurried him in, the poor man chafing 
without remedy. 

When they had got their complement ; and were 
shut in together, the rest of them said to this ancient 
man, " Come, father, you are the oldest amongst us, 
you shall be our foreman." And when the coroner 



148 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662, 

had sworn them on the jury, the coffin was uncovered, 
that they might look upon the body. But the old 
man, disturbed in his mind at the interruption they 
had given him, was grown somewhat fretful upon it, 
and said to them, " To what purpose do you show us a 
dead body here ? You would not have us think, sure, 
that this man died in this room ! How then shall we 
be able to judge how this man came by his death, 
unless we see the place wherein he died, and wherein 
he hath been kept prisoner before he died ? How 
know we but that the incommodiousness of the place 
wherein he was kept, may have occasioned his death ? 
Therefore, shew us," said he, "the place wherein this 
man died." 

This much displeased the keepers, and they began 
to banter the old man, thinking to have beaten him off 
it. But he stood up tightly to them : " Come, come," 
said he, " though you have made a fool of me in bring- 
ing me in hither, you shall not find a child of me now 
I am here. Mistake not yourselves ; I understand my 
place, and your duty, and I require you to conduct me 
and my brethren to the place where this man died. 
Refuse it at your peril." 

They now wished they had let the old man go about 
his business, rather than by troubling him have 
brought this trouble on themselves. But when they 
saw he persisted in his resolution, and was peremp- 
tory, the coroner told them, they must go show him 
the place. 

It was in the evening when they began this work; 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. \^Q 

and by this time it was grown bed-time with us, so that 
we had taken down our hammocks, which during the 
day were hung up by the walls, and had made them 
ready to go into, and were undressing ourselves, in 
readiness to go into them. When on a sudden we 
heard a great noise of tongues, and of trampling of 
feet, coming up towards us ; and bye and bye one of the 
turnkeys opening our door, said, " Hold, hold, do not 
undress yourselves, here is the coroner's inquest coming 
to see you." 

As soon as they were come to the door, for within 
the door there was scarce room for them to come, the 
foreman who led them, lifting up his hand, said, "Lord 
bless me, what a sight is here ! I did not think there 
had been so much cruelty in the hearts of Englishmen, 
to use Englishmen in this manner ! We need not now 
question," said he, to the rest of the jury, "how this 
man came by his death; we may rather wonder that 
they are not all dead, for this place is enough to breed 
an infection among them. Well," added he, "if it 
please God to lengthen my life till to-morrow, I will 
find means to let the king know how his subjects are 
dealt with." 

Whether he did so or no I cannot tell ; but I am apt 
to think that he applied himself to the mayor or sheriffs 
of London. For the next day one of the sheriffs, 
called Sir William Turner, a woollen-draper, in Paul's- 
yard, came to the press-yard, and having ordered the 
porter of Bridewell to attend him there, sent up a turn- 
key amongst us, to bid all the Bridewell prisoners come 
13* 



150 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

down to him, for they knew us not, but we knew our 
own company. 

Being come before him in the press-yard, he looked 
kindly on us, and spake courteously to us. " Gentle- 
men," said he, "I understand the prison is very full, 
and I am sorry for it. I wish it were in my power to 
release you, and the rest of your friends that are in it. 
But since I cannot do that, I am willing to do what I 
can for you. And therefore I am come hither to in- 
quire how 7 it is ; and I would have all of you, who came 
from Bridewell, return thither again, which will be a 
better accommodation to you ; and your removal will 
give the more room to those that are left behind. And 
here is the porter of Bridewell, your old keeper, to 
attend you thither." 

We duly acknowledged the favour of the sheriff to 
us and our friends above, in this removal of us, which 
would give them more room, and us better air. But 
before we parted from him, I spake particularly to him 
on another occasion ; which was this. 

When we came into Newgate, we found a shabby 
fellow there among the Friends, who, upon inquiry, we 
understood had thrust himself among our friends, when 
they w r ere taken at a meeting, on purpose to be sent to 
prison with them, in hopes to be maintained by them. 
They knew nothing of him, till they found him shut in 
with them in the prison, and then took no notice of 
him, as not knowing how or why he came thither 
But he very soon gave them cause to take notice of 
him ; for wherever he saw any victuals brought forth 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 151 

for them to eat, lie would be sure to thrust in, with 
knife in hand, and make himself his own carver ; and 
so impudent was he, that if he saw the provision was 
short, whoever wanted, he would be sure to take 
enough. Thus lived this lazy drone upon the labours 
of the industrious bees, to his high content, and their 
no small trouble, to whom his company was as offensive, 
as his ravening was oppressive ; nor could they get any 
relief, by their complaining of him to the keepers. 

. This fellow hearing the notice which was given, for 
the Bridewell men to go down, in order to be removed 
to Bridewell again, and hoping no doubt that fresh 
quarters would produce fresh commons, and that he 
should fare better with us than where he was, thrust 
himself amongst us, and went down into the press-yard 
with us : which I knew not of, till I saw him standing 
there with his hat on, and looking as demurely as he 
could, that the sheriff might take him for a Quaker ; at 
sight of which my spirit was much stirred. Wherefore 
as soon as the sheriff had done speaking to us, and 
we had made our acknowledgment of his kindness, I 
stepped a little nearer to him, and pointing to that 
fellow, said, " That man is not only none of our com- 
pany, for he is no Quaker, but is an idle, dissolute 
fellow, who hath thrust himself in among our Friends, 
to be sent to prison with them, that he might live upon 
them ; therefore I desire we may not be troubled with 
him at Bridewell. 

At this the sheriff smiled; and calling the fellow 
forth, said to him, " How came you to be in prison ¥* 



252 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

"I was taken at a meeting," said he. " But what 
business had you there?" said the sheriff. "I went 
to hear," said he. " Aye, you went upon a worse 
design, it seems," replied the sheriff: "but. I'll dis- 
appoint you," said he, "for I'll change your company, 
and send you to them that are like yourself." Then 
calling for the turnkey, he said. " Take this fellow, and 
put him among the felons; and be sure let him not 
trouble the Quakers any more." 

Hitherto this fellow had stood with his hat on, as 
willing to have passed, if he could, for a Quaker ; but 
as soon as he heard this doom passed on him, off went 
his hat, and to bowing and scraping he fell, with 
" Good your worship, have pity upon me, and set me 
at liberty." "No, no," said the sheriff, " I will not so 
far disappoint you ; since you had a mind to be in 
prison, in prison you shall be for me." Then bidding 
the turnkey take him away, he had him up, and put him 
among the felons ; and so Friends had a good deliver- 
ance from him. 

The sheriff then bidding us farewell, the porter of 
Bridewell came to us, and told us we knew our way 
to Bridewell without him, and he could trust us ; there- 
fore he would not stay nor go with us, but left us to 
take our own time, so we were in before bed-time. 

Then went we up again to our friends in Newgate, 
and gave them an account of what had passed ; and 
having taken a solemn leave of them, we made up our 
packs to be gone. But before I pass from Newgate, I 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. ] 53 

think it not amiss to give the reader some little ac- 
count of what I observed while I was there. 

The common side of Newgate is generally accounted, 
as it really is, the worst part of that prison ; not so 
much from the place, as the people, it being usually 
stocked with the veriest rogues, and meanest sort of 
felons and pickpockets, who not being able to pay 
chamber-rent on the master's side, are thrust in there. 
And if they come in bad, to be sure they do not go 
out better ; for here they have an opportunity to in- 
struct one another in their art, and to impart each to 
the other what improvements they had made therein. 

The common hall, which is the first room over the 
gate, is a good place to walk in, when the prisoners 
are out of it, saving the danger of catching some cattle 
which they may have left in it ; and there I used to 
walk in a morning before they were let up, and some- 
times in the day-time when they have been there. 

They all carried themselves respectfully towards me, 
which I imputed chiefly to this, that when any of our 
women Friends came there to visit the prisoners, if 
they had not relations of their own there to take care 
of, then I, as being a young man, and more at leisure 
than most others, for I could not play the tailor there, 
was forward to go down with them to the grate, and 
see them safe out. And sometimes they have left 
money in my hands for the felons, (who at such times 
were very importunate beggars) which I forthwith dis- 
tributed among them in bread, which was to be had in 
the place. But so troublesome an office it was, that I 



154 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

thought one had as good have had a pack of hungry 
hounds about one, as these, when they knew there was 
a dole to be given. Yet this, I think, made them a 
little the more observant to me; for they would dispose 
themselves to one side of the room, that they might 
make way for me to walk on the other. And when I 
walked there, I had usually a book in my hand, on 
which I had mine eye ; which made them think I did 
not heed what they said. By this means, my ear being 
attentive to them, I heard them relate one to another 
many of their roguish pranks. 

One day, as I was walking to and fro beside them, 
I heard them recounting one to another what feats 
they had done at pocket-picking and shop-lifting, &c. 
Whereupon, turning short upon them, I asked them, 
u Which of you all will undertake to pick my pocket ?" 
They were not very forward to answer, but viewed me 
round. I wore a long gown, which was lapped over 
before and tied about the middle, and had no pocket- 
holes in it. When they had a while considered it, and 
I having taken another turn was come up again to 
them, one of them said, " Why, master, if you will 
promise not to prosecute us, we will show you a piece 
of our skill." "Nay, hold there," said I, " I won't 
so far encourage you in evil, as to promise not to 
prosecute ;" and away I turned again, having mine eye 
on my book, but my ears to them. And in a while I 
heard them contriving how they would have done it. 
"I," said one of them, "would give him the budge, 
ax> .? ' *bre he can recover himself, you," said he to 



1662.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 155 

another of them, u having your penknife ready, should 
slit his gown ; and then," said he, a let Honeypot alone 
for the diving part." This Honeypot was a little boy, 
then in prison with them for picking a pocket, who by 
his stature did not seem to be above ten or a dozen 
years old ; but for his dexterity at pocket-picking was 
held to be one of the top of the trade. As for the 
budge, I had had it given me often in the street, but 
understood not the meaning of it till now ; and I found 
it was a jostle enough to throw one almost upon his 
nose. These are some of the evils, which make the 
common side of Newgate, in measure, a type of hell 
upon earth. 

But there was, at that time, something of another 
nature, more particular and accidental, which was very 
offensive to me. When we came first into Newgate, 
there lay in a little by-place, like a closet, near the 
room where we lodged, the quartered bodies of three 
men, who had been executed some days before, for a 
real or pretended plot ; which was the ground or at 
least pretext for that storm in the City, which had 
caused this imprisonment. The names of these three 
men were Philips, Tongue, and Gibs ; and the reason 
why their quarters lay so long there was, the relatives 
were all that while petitioning to have leave to bury 
them ; which at length, with much ado, was obtained for 
the quarters, but not for the heads, which were ordered 
to be set up in some parts of the City. I saw the 
heads when they were brought up to be boiled. The 
hangman brought them in a dirty dust-basket out of 



156 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

some by-place, and setting them down amongst the 
felons, he and they made sport of them. They took 
them by the hair, flouting, jeering, and laughing at 
them ; and then giving them some ill names, boxed 
them on the ears and cheeks. Which done, the hang- 
man put them into his kettle, and parboiled them 
with bay-salt and cummin seed ; that to keep them 
from putrefaction, and this to keep off the fowls from 
seizing on them. The whole sight, as well that of 
the bloody quarters first, as this of the heads after- 
wards, was both frightful and loathsome, and begat 
an abhorrence in my nature, which as it had rendered 
my confinement there by much the more uneasy, so it 
made our removal from thence to Bridewell, even in 
that respect, the more welcome. 

Having now T , as I hinted before, made up our packs, 
and taken our leave of our friends, whom we were to 
leave behind, we took our bundles on our shoulders, 
and walked, two and two abreast, through the Old 
Bailey into Fleet-street, and so to Old Bridewell. 
And it being about the middle of the afternoon, and 
the streets pretty full of people, both the shopkeepers 
at their doors, and passengers in the way, would stop 
us, and ask us what we were, and whither we were 
going ; and when we had told them we were prisoners, 
going from one prison to another, (from Newgate to 
Bridewell) "What!" said they, "without a keeper?" 
"No," said we, "for our word, which we have given, 
is our keeper." Some thereupon w T ould advise us not 
to go to prison, but to go home. But we told them we 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 157 

could not do so ; we could suffer for our testimony, 
but could not fly from it. I do not remember we had 
any abuse offered us, but were generally pitied by the 
people. 

When we w^ere come to Bridewell, we were not put 
up into the great room in which we had been before, 
but into a low room in another fair court, which had a 
pump in the middle of it. And here we were not 
shut up as before, but had the liberty of the court to 
w r alk in, and of the pump to wash or drink at. And 
indeed, we might easily have gone quite away if we 
would, there being a passage through the court into 
the street ; but we were true and steady prisoners, and 
looked upon this liberty, arising from their confidence 
in us, to be a kind of parole upon us ; so that both 
conscience and honour stood now engaged for our true 
imprisonment. 

Adjoining to this room wherein we were, was such 
another, both newly fitted up for workhouses, and 
accordingly furnished with very great blocks for beat- 
ing hemp upon, and a lusty whipping-post there was 
in each. And it was said, that Richard Brown had 
ordered those blocks to be provided for the Quakers 
to w^ork on, resolving to try his strength with us in 
that case; but if that was his purpose, it was over- 
ruled, for we never had any work offered us, nor were 
we treated after the manner of those that are to be so 
used. Yet we set ourselves to work on them ; for, 
being very large, they served the tailors for shop- 
boards, and others wrought upon them as they had 
14 



^58 THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

occasion ; and they served us very well for tables to 
eat on. 

We had also, besides this room, the use of our former 
chamber above, to go into when we thought fit; and 
thither sometimes I withdrew, when I found a desire 
for retirement and privacy, or had something on my 
mind to write, which could not so w T ell be done in com- 
pany. And indeed, about this time, my spirit was 
more than ordinarily exercised, though on very different 
subjects. For, on the one hand, the sense of the 
exceeding love and goodness of the Lord to me, in his 
gracious and tender dealings with me, did deeply affect 
my heart, and caused me to break forth into a Song 
of Thanksgiving and Praise to Him : and, on the other 
hand, a sense of the profaneness, debaucheries, cruel- 
ties, and other horrid impieties of the age, fell heavy 
on me, and lay as a pressing weight upon my spirit ; 
and I breathed forth the following Hymn to God, in ac- 
knowledgment of his great goodness to me, in profession 
of my greatful love to him, and supplication to him, 
for the continuance of his kindness to me, in preserving 
me from the snares of the Enemy, and keeping me 
faithful unto himself : — 



HYMN TO GOD 



Thee, thee alone, God ! I fear, 

In thee do I confide ; 
Thy presence is to me more dear 

Than all things else beside. 



662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. Jgg 

Thy virtue, power, life, and light, 

Which in my heart do shine, 
Above all things are my delight; 

Oh ! make them always mine. 

Thy matchless love constrains my life* 

Thy life constrains my love, 
To be to thee as chaste a wife, 

As is the turtle dove 

To her elect, espoused mate, 

Whom she will not forsake ; 
Nor can be brought to violate 

The bond she once did make. 

Just so my soul doth cleave to Thee 

As to her only head, 
With whom she longs conjoined to be 

In bond of marriage : bed. 

But ah, alas ! her little fort 

Is compassed about, 
Her foes about her thick resort, 

Within, and eke without. 

How numerous are they now grown, 

How wicked their intent! 
Oh ! let thy mighty power be shown, 

Their mischief to prevent. 

They make assaults on every side, 

But Thou stand'st in the gap ; 
Their batt'ring-rams make breaches wide, 

But still Thou niak'st them up. 

Sometimes they use alluring wiles, 

To draw into their power ; 
And sometimes weep like crocodiles,—* 

But all is to devour. 



jgQ THE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

Thus they beset my feeble heart 

With fraud, deceit, and guile ; 
Alluring her from Thee to start, 

And thy pure rest defile. 

But oh ! the breathing and the moan, 

The sighings of the seed, 
The groanings of the grieved one, 

Do sorrows in me breed. 



And that immortal, holy birth, 
The offspring of thy breath, 
. (To whom thy love brings life and mirth, 
As doth thy absence, death.) 

That babe, that seed, that panting child, 

Which cannot Thee forsake, 
In fear to be again beguiPd, 

Doth supplication make — 

Oh ! suffer not thy chosen one, 

Who puts her trust in Thee, 
And hath made Thee her choice alone, 

Ensnar'd again to be. 

Bridewell, London, 1662. 

In this sort did I spend some leisure hours, during 
my confinement in Bridewell, especially after our return 
from Newgate thither ; w T hen we had more liberty, and 
more opportunity, and room for retirement and thought. 
For, as the poet said, 

Carmina Scribentes Secession et Otia qiicerunt. 

They who would write in measure 

Retire where they may stillness have and leisure. 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. Jg| 

And this privilege we enjoyed by the indulgence of 
our keeper, whose heart God disposed to favour us. 

So that both the master and his porter were very 
civil and kind to us, and had been so indeed all along. 
For when we were shut up before, the porter would 
readily let some of us go home in an evening, and stay 
at home till next morning ; which was a great con- 
venience to men of trade and business, which I being 
free from, forbore asking for myself, that I might not 
hinder others. This he observed, and asked me when 
I meant to ask to go out ? I told him I had not much 
occasion nor desire, yet at some time or other perhaps 
I might have ; but when I had, I would ask him but 
once, and if he then denied me, I would ask him no 
more. 

After we were come back from Newgate, I had a* 
desire to go thither again, to visit my friends who were 
prisoners there, more especially my dear friend, and 
father in Christ, Edward Burrough, who was then a 
prisoner, with many Friends more, in that part of 
Newgate, which was then called Justice-hall. Where- 
upon the porter coming in my way, I asked him to let 
me go out for an hour or two, to see some friends of 
mine that evening. He, to enhance the kindness, 
made it a matter of some difficulty, and would have me 
stay till another night. I told him I would be at a 
word with him ; for as I had told him before, that if he 
denied me, I would ask him no more, so he should find 
I would keep to it. 

He was no sooner gone out of my sight, but I espied 
14* 



2(32 THE HISTUKY OF THE [1662. 

his master crossing the court ; wherefore, stepping to 
him, I asked him if he was willing to let me go out for 
a little while, to see some friends of mine that evening. 
" Yes," said he, " very willing;" and thereupon away 
walked I to Newgate, where having spent the evening 
among Friends, I returned in good time. 

Under this easy restraint we lay until the court sat 
at the Old Bailey again; and then, whether it was that 
the heat of the storm was somewhat abated, or by what 
other means Providence wrought it, I know not, we 
were called to the bar, and, without further question, 
discharged. Whereupon we returned to Bridewell 
again, and having raised some money among us, and 
therewith gratified both the master and his porter for 
their kindness to us, we spent some time in a solemn 
meeting, to return our thankful acknowledgment to the 
Lord, both for his preservation of us in prison, and 
deliverance of us out of it ; and then taking a solemn 
farewell of each other, we departed with bag and bag- 
gage. And I took care to return my hammock to the 
owner, with due acknowledgment of his kindness in 
lending it to me. 

Being now at liberty, I visited more generally my 
friends that were still in prison, and more particularly 
my friend and benefactor William Penington, at his 
house ; and then went to wait upon my master Milton, 
with whom yet I could not propose to enter upon my 
intermitted studies, until I had been in Buckingham- 
shire, to visit my worthy friends Isaac Penington and 
his virtuous wile, with other Friends in that country 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 163 

Thither therefore I betook myself, and the weather 
being frosty, and the ways by that means clean and 
good, I walked it throughout in a day, and was received 
by my friends there with such demonstration of hearty 
kindness, as made my journey very easy to me. 

I had spent in my imprisonment that twenty shillings 
which I had received of Wi liam Penington, and twenty 
of the forty which had been sent me from Mary Pen- 
ington, and had the remainder then about me. That 
therefore I now returned to her, with due acknowledg- 
ment of her husband's and her great care of me, and 
liberality to me in the time of need. She would have 
had me keep it ; but I begged of her to accept it from 
me again, since it w T as the redundancy of their kind- 
ness, and the other part had answered the occasion for 
which it was sent ; and my importunity prevailed. 

I intended only a visit hither, not a continuance; 
and therefore purposed, after I had stayed a few days, 
to return to my lodging and former course in London ; 
but Providence ordered it otherwise. Isaac Penington 
had at that time two sons and one daughter, all then 
very young ; of whom the eldest son, John Penington, 
and the daughter, Mary, the wife of Daniel Wharley, 
are yet living at the writing of this. And being him- 
self both skilful and curious in pronunciation, he was 
very desirous to have them well grounded in the rudi- 
ments of the English tongue ; to which end he had sent 
for a man out of Lancashire, whom upon inquiry he 
had heard of, who was undoubtedly the most accurate 
English teacher that ever I met with, or have heard of. 



104 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1662. 

His name was Richard Bradley. But as he pretended 
no higher than the English tongue, and had led them, 
by grammar rules, to the highest improvement they 
were capable of in that, he had then taken his leave 
of them, and was gone up to London, to teach an Eng- 
lish school of Friends' children there. 

This put my friend to a fresh strait. He had sought 
for a new teacher to instruct his children in the Latin 
tongue, as the old had done in the English, but had 
not yet found one. Wherefore, one evening as we sat 
together by the fire in his bed-chamber, w T hich for want 
of health he kept, he asked me, his wife being by, if I 
would be so kind to him, as to stay a while with him, 
till he could hear of such a man as he aimed at, and in 
the mean time enter his children in the rudiments of 
the Latin tongue. 

The question was not more unexpected, than sur- 
prising to me ; and the more, because it seemed directly 
to thwart my former purpose and undertaking, of en- 
deavouring to improve myself, by following my studies 
with Milton, which this would give at least a present 
diversion from, and for how long I could not foresee. 

But the sense I had of the manifold obligations I 
lay under to these worthy friends of mine shut out all 
reasonings, and disposed my mind to an absolute resig- 
nation to their desire, that I might testify my grati- 
tude, by a willingness to do them any friendly service 
that I could be capable of. And though I questioned 
my ability to carry on that work to its due height and 
proportion, yet, as that was not proposed, but an ini- 



1662.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 165 

tiation only, by accidence into grammar, I consented 
to the proposal, as a present expedient, till a more 
qualified person should be found, without further 
treaty, or mention of terms between us, than that of 
mutual friendship. And to render this digression from 
my own studies the less uneasy to my mind, I recol- 
lected and often thought of that rule in Lilly, 

Qui docet indoctos, licet indoctissimus esset, 
Ipse brevi reliquis dociior esse queat. 

He that th' unlearned doth teach, may quickly be 
More learn'd than they, though most unlearn'd he. 

With this consideration I undertook this province, 
and left it not until I married, which was not till the 
year 1669, near seven years from the time I came 
thither. In which time, having the use of my friends' 
books, as well as of my own, I spent my leisure hours 
much in reading, not without some improvement to 
myself in my private studies ; which, with the good 
success of my labours bestowed on the children, and 
the ngreeableness of conversation which I found in the 
family, rendered my undertaking more satisfactory, 
and my stay there more easy to me. 

But, alas ! not many days (not to say weeks) had 
I been there, ere we were almost overwhelmed with 
sorrow r , for the unexpected loss of Edward Burrough, 
who was justly very dear to us all. This not only 
good, but great good man, by a long and close confine- 
ment in Newgate, through the cruel malice and mali- 
cious cruelty of Richard Brown, was taken away by 
hasty death, on the 14th of 12th month, 1662; to the 



166 THE HISTORY OF THE [1663. 

unutterable grief of many, and unspeakable loss to the 
church of Christ in general. 

The particular obligation I had to him, as the imme- 
diate instrument of my convincement, and high affec- 
tion for him resulting therefrom, did so deeply affect 
my mind, that it was some pretty time before my pas- 
sion could prevail to express itself in words. At 
length my muse, not bearing to be any longer mute, 
brake forth in an acrostic, w T hich I called, " A pathetic 
elegy on the death of that dear and faithful servant 
of God, Edward Burrough." 



CHAPTER V. 

1663-1667. 

Paying a debt — Gulielrne Springett — Unfounded suspicions — Making 
verses — Joins his father in the sale of his estate — Conformity Prest 
and Represt — Outrages committed at the funeral of a Friend — Sent to 
jail for being at a funeral — The cruel jailor — Milton at Chalfont — 
"Paradise Lost" — " Paradise Regained" — Persecution of I. Pening- 
ton — Morgan Watkins — Sent to the House of Correction in Wycombe 
— Return to I. Penington's family at Araersham — Defection of J. 
Perrot — Caught in the snare — Deliverance therefrom — Meeting in 
London — Public testimony against the delusion. 

I went on in my new province, instructing my little 
pupils in the rudiments of the Latin tongue, to the 
mutual satisfaction of both their parents and myself. 
As soon as I had gotten a little money in my pocket, 



1603.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 167 

which as a premium without compact I received from 
them, I took the first opportunity to return to my 
friend William Penington the money which he had so 
kindly furnished me with in my need, at the time of 
my imprisonment in Bridewell, with a due acknowledg- 
ment of my obligation to him for it. He was not at 
all forward to receive it, so that I was fain to press it 
upon him. 

While thus I remained in this family, various sus- 
picions arose in the minds of some concerning me, with 
respect to Mary Penington's fair daughter Guli. For 
having now arrived to a marriageable age, and being 
in all respects a very desirable woman, w T hether regard 
was had to her outward person, which wanted nothing 
to render her completely comely, or to the endowments 
of her mind, which were every way extraordinary, and 
highly obliging ; or to her outw^ard fortune, which was 
fair, and which with some hath not the last, nor the 
least place in consideration, she was openly and secretly 
sought and solicited by many, and some of them almost 
of every rank and condition ; good and bad, rich and 
poor, friend and foe. To whom in their respective 
turns, till he at length came for whom she was reserved, 
she carried herself with so much evenness of temper, 
such courteous freedom, guarded with the strictest 
modesty, that, as it gave encouragement or ground of 
hopes to none, so neither did it administer any matter 
of offence or just cause of complaint to any. But 
such as were thus either engaged for themselves, or 
desirous to make themselves advocates for others, could 



1(33 THE HISTORY OF THE [1663. 

not, I observed, but look upon me with an eye of 
jealousy and fear, that I would improve the opportu- 
nities I had, by frequent and familiar conversation 
with her, to my ow T n advantage, in working myself into 
her good opinion and favour, to the ruin of their pre- 
tences. 

According therefore to the several kinds and degrees 
of their fears of me, they suggested to her parents 
their ill surmises against me. Some stuck not to ques- 
tion the sincerity of my intentions in coming at first 
among the Quakers ; urging with a Why may it not be 
so ? that the desire and hopes of obtaining by that 
means so fair a fortune, might be the prime and chief 
inducement to me to thrust myself amongst that people. 
But this surmise could find no place with those worthy 
friends of mine, her father-in-law and her mother, who, 
besides the clear sense and sound judgment they had 
in themselves, knew very well upon w T hat terms I came 
among them ; how strait and hard the passage was to 
me ; how contrary to all worldly interest, which lay 
fair another way ; how much I had suffered from my 
father for it ; and how r regardless I had been of at- 
tempting or seeking anything of that nature, in these 
three or four years that I had been amongst them. 

Some others, measuring me by the propensity of 
their own inclinations, concluded I would steal her, run 
away with her, and marry her. Which they thought I 
might be the more easily induced to do, from the ad- 
vantageous opportunities I frequently had of riding 
and walking abroad with her, by night as well as bv 



1663.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. Ig9 

day, without any other company than her maid. For 
so great indeed was the confidence that her mother had 
in me, that she thought her daughter safe if I was with 
her, even from the plots and designs that others had 
upon her. And so honourable were the thoughts she 
entertained concerning me, as would not suffer her to 
admit a suspicion, that I could be capable of so much 
baseness, as to betray the trust she with so great 
freedom reposed in me. 

I was not ignorant of the various fears which filled 
the jealous heads of some concerning me ; neither was 
I so stupid, nor so divested of all humanity, as not to 
be sensible of the real and innate worth and virtue 
which adorned that excellent dame, and attracted the 
eyes and hearts of so many, with the greatest impor- 
tunity to seek and solicit her. Nor was I so devoid of 
natural heat, as not to feel some sparklings of desire 
as well as others. But the force of truth, and sense 
of honour, suppressed whatever would have risen 
beyond the bounds of fair and virtuous friendship. 
For I easily foresaw, that if I should have attempted 
anything in a dishonourable way, by force or fraud 
upon her, I should have thereby brought a wound upon 
mine own soul, a foul scandal upon my religious pro- 
fession, and an infamous stain upon mine honour ; either 
of w r hich was far more dear unto me than my life. Where- 
fore, having observed how some others had befooled 
themselves, by misconstruing her common kindness, 
expressed in an innocent, open, free, and familiar con- 
versation, springing from the abundant affability, cour- 
15 



170 THE HISTORY OF THE [1664. 

tesy, and sweetness of her natural temper, to be the 
effect of a singular regard and peculiar affection to 
them, I resolved to shun the rock on which I had seen 
so many run and split : and remembered that saying 
of the poet, 

Felix quern faciunt alienee 'pericula cautum.- 

* * * * Happy's he, 

Whom others' dangers wary make to be. 

I governed myself in a free yet respectful carriage 
towards her, that I thereby both preserved a fair repu- 
tation with my friends, and enjoyed as much of her 
favour and kindness, in a virtuous and firm friendship, 
as was fit for her to show, or for me to seek. 

Thus leading a quiet and contented life, I had leisure 
sometimes to write a copy of verses, on one occasion 
or another, as the poetic vein naturally opened, with- 
out taking pains to polish them. Such was the verse 
occasioned by the sudden death of some lusty people 
in their full strength. As the consideration of the 
uncertainty of human life drew from me some lines 
thereon, so the sense I had of the folly of mankind in 
misspending the little time allowed them in evil ways 
and vain sports, led me more particularly to trace the 
several courses wherein the generality of men run, un- 
profitably at least; if not to their hurt and ruin ; which 
I introduced with that axiom of the preacher, Eccles. 
i. 2. After I had thus enumerated some of the many 
vanities in which the generality of men misspend their 
time, I sang an Ode in praise of virtue. 



'665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 171 

About this time my father, resolving to sell his es- 
tate, and having reserved for his own use such parts 
of his household goods as he thought fit, not willing to 
take upon himself the trouble of selling the rest, gave 
them unto me. Whereupon I went down to Crowell, 
and having before given notice there and thereabouts, 
that I intended a public sale of them, I sold them, and 
thereby put some money into my pocket. Yet I sold 
such things only as I judged useful ; leaving the pic- 
tures and armour, of which there was some store there, 
unsold. 

Not long after this, my father sent for me to come 
to him at London, about some business ; w T hich, when 
I came there, I understood was to join with him in the 
sale of his estate, which the purchaser required for his 
own satisfaction and safety, I being then the next heir 
to it in law. And although I might probably have 
made some advantageous terms for myself by standing 
off, yet when I was satisfied by counsel, that there was 
no entail upon it, or right of reversion to me, but that 
he might lawfully dispose of it as he pleased, I readily 
joined with him in the sale, without asking or having 
the least gratuity or compensation ; no, not so much as 
the fee I had given to counsel, to secure me from any 
danger in doing it. 

There had been, sometime before this, a very severe 
law made against the Quakers by name ; and, more 
particularly, prohibiting our meetings under the sharpest 
penalties, of five pounds for the first offence, so called ; 
ven pounds for the second ; and banishment for the 



Y12 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665 

third ; under pain of felony for escaping or returning 
without license. This law was looked upon to have 
been procured by the bishops, in order to bring us to 
a conformity to their way of worship. I wrote a few 
lines in way of Dialogue between a Bishop and a 
Quaker, which I called 



CONFORMITY, PREST AND REPREST. 

B. — What ! You are one of them that do deny 
To yield obedience by conformity? 

Q. — Nay, we desire conformable to be. 

B. — But unto what? 

Q. — The Image of the Son. 

B. — What's that to us? We'll have conformity 
Unto our form. 

Q. — Then we shall ne'er have done; 
For, if your fickle minds should alter, we 
Should be to seek a new conformity. 
Thus, who to-day conform to Prelacy, 
To-morrow may conform to Popery. 
But take this for an answer, Bishop, we 
Cannot conform, either to them, or thee; 
For while to truth your forms are opposite, 
Whoe'er conforms thereto, doth not aright. 

B. — We'll make such knaves as you conform, or lie 
Confined in prisons, till ye rot and die. 

Q. — Well, gentle Bishop, I may live to see, 
For all thy threats, a check to cruelty ; 
And thee rewarded, with thy envious crew, 
According as unto your works is due. 
But, in the mean time, I, for my defence, 
Betake me to my fortress, Patience. 



1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 173 

No sooner was this cruel law made, but it was put 
in execution with great severity. The sense whereof 
working strongly on my spirit, made me cry earnestly 
to the Lord, that he would arise and set up his right- 
eous judgment in the earth, for the deliverance of his 
people from all their enemies, both inward and out- 
ward. 

Although the storm, raised by the act for banishment, 
fell with the greatest weight and force upon some other 
parts, as at London, Hertford, &c, yet we were not, 
in Buckinghamshire, wholly exempted therefrom ; for 
a part of that shower reached us also. For a Friend 
of Amersham, whose name was Edward Perot, or 
Parret, departing this life, and notice being given that 
his body would be buried there on such a day, which 
was the first day of the fifth month, 1665, the Friends 
of the adjacent parts of the country resorted pretty 
generally to the burial ; so that there was a fair 
appearance of friends and neighbours, the deceased 
having been well beloved by both. 

After we had spent some time together in the house, 
Morgan Watkins, who at that time happened to be at 
Isaac Penington's, being with us, the body was taken 
up and borne on Friends' shoulders along the street, 
in order to be carried to the burial-ground, which was 
at the town's end, being part of an orchard belonging 
to the deceased, which he in his life-time had appointed 
for that service. 

It so happened, that one Ambrose Benett, a barrister 
at law, and a justice of the peace for that county, 
15* 



]_74 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665 

riding through the town that morning, in his way to 
Aylesbury, was, by some ill-disposed person or other, 
informed that there was a Quaker to be buried there 
that day ; and that most of the Quakers in the country 
were come thither to the burial. 

Upon this he set up his horses and stayed ; and 
when we, not knowing anything of his design against 
us, went innocently forward, to perform our Christian 
duty, for the interment of our friend, he rushed out 
of his inn upon us, with the constables and a rabble 
of rude fellows, whom he had gathered together, and 
having his drawn sword in his hand, struck one of 
the foremost of the bearers with it, commanding them 
to set down the coffin. But the Friend, who was so 
stricken, whose name was Thomas Dell, being more 
concerned for the safety of the dead body than his 
own, lest it should fall from his shoulder, and any 
indecency thereupon follow, held the coffin fast ; which 
the justice observing, and being enraged that his word, 
how unjust soever, was not forthwith obeyed, set his 
hand to the coffin, and with a forcible thrust threw it 
off from the bearer's shoulders, so that it fell to the 
ground in the midst of the street, and there we were 
forced to leave it. 

For immediately thereupon, the justice giving com- 
mand for the apprehending us, the constables with the 
rabble fell on us, and drew some, and drove others into 
the inn, giving thereby an opportunity to the rest to 
walk away. Of those that were thus taken, I was one. 
And being, with many more, put into a room under a 



1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 175 

guard, we were kept there till another justice, called 
Sir Thomas Clayton, whom Justice Benett had sent 
for to join with him in committing us, was come. And 
then, being called forth severally before them, they 
picked out ten of us, and committed us to Aylesbury 
jail, for what neither we nor they knew ; for we were 
not convicted of having either done or said anything 
which the law could take hold of, for they took us up 
in the open street, the king's highway, not doing any 
unlawful act, but peaceably carrying and accompanying 
the corpse of our deceased friend, to bury it, which 
they would not suffer us to do, but caused the body to 
lie in the open street, and in the cart-way ; so that all 
the travellers that passed by, whether horsemen, 
coaches, carts, or wagons, were fain to break out of 
the way to go by it, that they might not drive over it, 
until it was almost night. And then, having caused 
a grave to be made in the unconsecrated part, as it is 
accounted, of that which is called the church-yard, 
they forcibly took the body from the widow, whose 
right and property it was, and buried it there. 

When the justices had delivered us prisoners to the 
constable, it being then late in the clay, which was the 
seventh day of the week, he, not willing to go so far 
as Aylesbury (nine long miles) with us that night, nor 
to put the town to the charge of keeping us there that 
night, and the first-day and night following, dismissed 
us upon our parole to come to him again at a set hour 
on the second-day morning ; whereupon we all went 
home to our respective habitations, and coming to him 



276 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665. 

punctually according to promise, were by him, without 
guard, conducted to the prison. 

The jailor, whose name was Nathaniel Birch, had 
not long before behaved himself very wickedly, with 
great rudeness and cruelty, to some of our friends of 
the lower side of the county, whom he, combining with 
the clerk of the peace, whose name was Henry Wells, 
had contrived to get into his jail ; and after they were 
legally discharged in court, detained them in prison, 
using great violence, and shutting them up close in the 
common jail among the felons, because they would not 
give him his unrighteous demand of fees ; which they 
were the more straitened in, from his treacherous deal- 
ing with them. And they having through suffering 
maintained their freedom, and obtained their liberty, 
we were the more concerned to keep what they had so 
hardly gained, and therefore resolved not to make any 
contract or terms for either chamber-rent or fees, but 
to demand a free prison ; which we did. 

When we came in, the jailor had ridden out to wait 
on the judges, who came in that day to begin the assize, 
and his wife was somewhat at a loss how to deal with 
us; but being a cunning woman, she treated us with 
great appearance of courtesy, offering us the choice of 
all her rooms ; and w T hen we asked upon what terms, 
she still referred us to her husband, telling us she did 
not doubt but that he would be very reasonable and 
civil to us. Thus she endeavoured to have drawn us 
to take possession of some of her chambers at a ven- 
ture, and trust to her husband's kind usage. But we, 



1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 177 

who at the cost of our friends had a proof of his kind- 
ness, were too wary to be drawn in by the fair words 
of a woman, and therefore told her we would not settle 
anywhere till her husband came home, and then would 
have a free prison, wheresoever he put us. Accord- 
ingly, walking all together into the court of the prison, 
in which was a well of very good water, and having 
before-hand sent to a Friend in the town, a widow 
woman, whose name was Sarah Lambarn, to bring us 
some bread and cheese, we sat down upon the ground 
round about the well, and when we had eaten, we drank 
of the water out of it. Our great concern was for our 
friend Isaac Penington, because of the tenderness of 
his constitution ; but he was so lively in his spirit, and 
so cheerfully given up to suffer, that he rather encou- 
raged us, than needed any encouragement from us. 
In this posture the jailor, when he came home, found 
us ; and having before he came to us consulted his 
wife, and by her understood on what terms we stood, 
when he came to us, he hid his teeth, and putting on a 
show of kindness, seemed much troubled that w T e should 
sit there abroad, especially his old friend Mr. Pening- 
ton, and thereupon invited us to come in, and take 
what rooms in his house we pleased. We asked upon 
w T hat terms, letting him know withal that we deter- 
mined to have a free prison. 

He, like the Sun and Wind in the fable, that strove 
which of them should take from the traveller his cloak, 
having, like the Wind, tried rough, boisterous, violent 
means to our friends before, but in vain, — resolved now 



178 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665. 

to imitate the San, and shine as pleasantly as he could 
upon us. Wherefore, he told us we should make the 
terms ourselves, and be as free as we desired ; if we 
thought fit, when w T e were released to give him any- 
thing, he would thank us for it, and if not he would 
demand nothing. Upon these terms we went in and 
disposed ourselves, some in the dwelling-house, others 
in the malt-house, where they chose to be. 

During the assize, we were brought before Judge 
Morton, a sour, angry man, who very rudely reviled 
us, and would not hear either us or the cause, but 
referred the matter to the two justices who had com- 
mitted us. They, when the assize was ended, sent for 
us to be brought before them at their inn, and fined 
us, as I remember, six shillings and eightpence a-piece ; 
which we not consenting to pay, they committed us to 
prison again for one month from that time, on the act 
of banishment. 

When we had lain there that month, I, with another, 
went to the jailor, to demand our liberty, which he 
readily granted, telling us the door should be opened 
when we pleased to go. This answer of his I reported 
to the rest of my friends there, and thereupon we 
raised among us a small sum of money, which they put 
into my hand for the jailor ; whereupon I, taking an- 
other with me, went to the jailor with the money in my 
hand, and reminding him of the terms upon which we 
accepted the use of his rooms, I told him that although 
we could not pay chamber-rent or fees, yet, inasmuch 
as he had now been civil to us, we were willing to 



1665.1 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 179 

acknowledge it by a small token, and thereupon gave 
him the money. He, putting it into his pocket, said, 
" I thank you and your friends for it ; and to let you 
see I take it as a gift, not a debt, I will not look on it 
to see how much it is." The prison door being then 
set open for us, we went out, and departed to oar re- 
spective homes. 

Some little time before I went to Aylesbury prison, 
I was desired by my quondam master, Milton, to take 
a house for him in the neighbourhood where I dwelt, 
that he might go out of the city, for the safety of him- 
self and his family, the pestilence then growing hot in 
London. I took a pretty box for him in Giles Chal- 
font, a mile from me, of which I gave him notice, and 
intended to have waited on him, and seen him well set- 
tled in it, but was prevented by that imprisonment. 

But now being released, and returned home, I soon 
made a visit to him, to welcome him into the country. 
After some common discourse had passed between us, 
he called for a manuscript of his ; which being brought, 
he delivered to me, bidding me take it home with me, 
and read it at my leisure, and when I had so done, 
return it to him with my judgment thereupon. 

When I came home, and had set myself to read it, 
I found it was that excellent poem, which he entitled 
Paradise Lost. After I had, with the best attention, 
read it through, 1 made another visit, and returned him 
his book, with due acknowledgment of the favour he 
had done me in communicating it to me. He asked me 
how I liked it, and what I thought of it ; which I 



180 THE HISTORY OF THE [1665 

modestly but freely told him. And after some further 
discourse about it, I pleasantly said to him, "Thou 
hast said much here of Paradise Lost, but what hast 
thou to say of Paradise Found?" He made me no 
answer, but sat some time in a muse ; then brake off 
that discourse, and fell upon another subject. 

After the sickness was over, and the city well 
cleansed, and become safely habitable again, he re- 
turned thither. And when afterwards I went to wait 
on him there, which I seldom failed of doing, when- 
ever my occasions drew me to London, he showed me 
his second Poem, called Paradise Regained, and in a 
pleasant tone said to me, "This is owing to you, for 
you put it into my head by the question you put to 
me at Chalfont, which before I had not thought of." 
But from this digression I return to the family I then 
lived in. We had not long been at home, about a 
month perhaps, before Isaac Penington was taken out 
of his house in an arbitrary manner, by military force, 
and carried prisoner to Aylesbury jail again ; where 
he lay three quarters of a year, with great hazard of 
his life, it being the sickness year, and the plague 
being not only in the town, but in the jail. 

Meanwhile, his wife and family were turned out of 
his house called the Grange, at St: Peter's Chalfont, 
by them who had seized upon his estate; and the 
family being by that means broken up, some went one 
way, others another. Mary Penington herself^ with 
her younger children, went down to her husband at 
Aylesbury. Guli, with her maid, went to Bristol, to 



1665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. JgJ 

see her former maid, Anne Hersent, who was married 
to a merchant of that city, whose name was Thomas 
Biss ; and I went to Aylesbury with the children ; 
but not finding the place agreeable to my health, I 
soon left it, and returning to Chalfont, took a lodging, 
and was dieted in the house of a friendly man ; and 
after some time went to Bristol, to conduct Guli home. 
Meanwhile, Mary Penington took lodgings in a farm- 
house called Bottrel's, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, 
where, when we returned from Bristol, we found her. 

We had been there but a very little time, before I 
was sent to prison again upon this occasion. There 
was in those times a meeting once a month at the 
house of George Salter, a friend of Hedgerly, to 
which we sometimes went ; and Morgan Watkins being 
with us, he and I, with Guli and her maid, and one 
Judith Parker, wife of Dr. Parker, one of the College 
of Physicians at London, with a maiden daughter of 
theirs, neither of whom were Quakers, but as acquaint- 
ance of Mary Penington were with her on a visit, 
walked over to that meeting, it being about the middle 
of the first month, and the weather good. 

This place was about a mile from the house of 
Ambrose Benett, the justice, who the summer before 
had sent me and some other Friends to Aylesbury 
prison, from the burial of Edward Parret of Amer- 
sham; and he, by what means I know not, getting 
notice not only of the meeting, but, as was supposed, 
of our being there, came himself to it ; and as he 
came, catched up a stackwood stick, big enough to 
16 



182 THE HISTORY OF THE. [1665 

have knocked any man down, and brought it with him 
hidden under his cloak. 

Being come to the house, he stood for a while with- 
out the door, and out of sight, listening to hear what 
was said, for Morgrm was then speaking in the meet- 
ing. But certainly he heard very imperfectly, if it 
was true which we heard he said afterwards among his 
companions, as an argument that Morgan was a Jesuit, 
viz : that in his preaching, he trolled over his Latin as 
fluently as ever he heard any one; whereas Morgan 
(good man) was better versed in Welsh than in Latin, 
which I suppose he had never learned: I am sure he 
did not understand it. 

When this martial justice, who at Amersham had 
with his drawn sword struck an unarmed man, who he 
knew would not strike again, had now stood some time 
abroad, on a sudden he rushed in among us, with the 
stackwood stick held up in his hand ready to strike, 
crying out, "Make way there;" and an ancient woman 
not getting soon enough out of his way, he struck her 
with the stick a hard blow over the breast. Then 
pressing through the crowd to the place where Morgan 
stood, he plucked him from thence, and caused so 
great a disorder in the room, that it broke the meet- 
ing up ; yet would not the people go away or disperse 
themselves, but tarried to see what the issue would be. 

Then taking pen and paper, he sat down at the table 
among us, and asked several of us our names, which 
we gave, and he set down in writing. Amongst others 
he asked Judith Parker, the doctor's wife, what her 



r665.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 183 

name was, which she readily gave ; and thence taking 
occasion to discourse him, she so over mastered him 
by clear reason, delivered in fine language, that he, 
glad to be rid of her, struck out her name and dis- 
missed her; yet did not she remove, but kept her place 
amongst us. 

When he had taken what number of names he 
thought fit, he singled out half a dozen, whereof 
Morgan was one, I another, one man more, and three 
women, of which the woman of the house was one, 
although her husband then was, and for divers years 
before had been, a prisoner in the Fleet for tithes, and 
had nobody to take care of his family and business but 
her, his wife. 

Us six he committed to Aylesbury jail ; which, when 
the doctor's wife heard him read to the constable, she 
attacked him again, and having put him in mind that 
it was a sickly time, and that the pestilence was re- 
ported to be in that place, she in handsome terms 
desired him to consider in time, how he would answer 
the cry of our blood, if by his sending us to be shut 
up in an infected place, we should lose our lives there. 
This made him alter his purpose, and by a new mittimus 
he sent us to the house of correction at Wycombe. 
And although he committed us upon the act for banish- 
ment, which limited a certain time for imprisonment, 
yet he in his mittimus limited no time, but ordered us 
to be kept till we should be delivered by due course of 
law ; so little regardful was he, though a lawyer, of 
keeping to the letter of the law. 



Ig4 THE HISTORY OF THE [1666. 

We were committed on the 13th day of the month 
called March, 1666, and were kept close prisoners there 
till the 7th day of the month called June, which was 
some days above twelve w T eeks, and much above what 
the act required. 

Then were we sent for to the justice's house, and 
the rest being released, Morgan Watkins and I were 
required to find sureties for our appearance at the 
next assize ; which we refusing to do, w T ere committed 
anew to our old prison, the house of correction at 
Wycombe, there to lie until the next assizes ; Morgan 
being in this second mittimus represented as a notorious 
offender in preaching, and I, as being upon the second 
conviction, in order to banishment. There we lay till 
the 25th day of the same month; and then, by the 
favour of the Earl of Ancram, being brought before 
him at his house, we were discharged from the prison, 
upon our promise to appear (if at liberty and in health) 
at the assizes ; which we did, and were there discharged 
by proclamation. 

During my imprisonment in this prison, I betook 
myself for an employment to making of nets for kitchen 
service, to boil herbs, &c, in, which trade I learned of 
Morgan Watkins, and selling some, and giving others, I 
pretty well stocked the Friends of that country with 
them. 

Though in that confinement I was not very well 
suited with company for conversation, Morgan's 
natural temper not being very agreeable to mine, yet 
we kept a fair and brotherly correspondence, as be- 



1666.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 185 

came friends, prison-fellows, and bed-fellows, which 
we were. And indeed, it was a good time, I think, 
to us all ; for I found it so to me, the Lord being 
graciously pleased to visit my soul with the refreshing 
dews of his Divine Life, whereby my spirit was more 
and more quickened to him, and truth gained ground 
in me over the temptations and snares of the Enemy. 
This frequently raised in my heart thanksgivings and 
praises unto the Lord. And at one time more especially 
the sense I had of the prosperity of truth, and the 
spreading thereof, filling my heart with abundant joy, 
made my cup overflow, and the following lines drop 

out : — 

For Truth I suffer bonds, in Truth I live. 
And unto Truth this testimony give, 
That Truth shall over all exalted be, 
And in dominion reign for evermore; 
The child's already born, that this may see, 
Honour, praise, glory be to God therefore. 

And underneath thus : — 

Though death and hell should against Truth combine, 
Its glory shall through all their darkness shine. 

This I saw with an eye of faith, beyond the reach 
of human sense : for, — 

As strong desire, 

Draws objects nigher 
In apprehension, than indeed they are ; 

I, with an eye 

That pierced high, 
Did thus of Truth's prosperity declare. 

16* 



186 THE HISTORY OF THE [1667. 

After we had been discharged at the assizes, I re- 
turned to Isaac Penington's family, at Bottrel's, in 
Chalfont, and as I remember, Morgan Watkins with 
me, leaving Isanc Penington a prisoner in Aylesbury 
jail. The lodgings we had in this farm house (Bot- 
trel's) proving too strait and inconvenient for the 
family, I took larger and better lodgings for them in 
Berrie-house, at Amersham, whither we went at the 
time called Michaelmas, having spent the summer at 
the other place. 

Some time after, was that memorable meeting ap- 
pointed to be holden at London, through a divine open- 
ing in the motion of Life, in that eminent servant and 
prophet of God, George Fox, for the restoring and 
bringing in again those who had gone out from Truth, 
and the holy unity of Friends therein, by the means 
and ministry of John Perrot. 

This man came pretty early amongst Friends, and 
too early took upon him the ministerial office ; and 
being, though little in person, yet great in opinion of 
himself, nothing less would serve him than to go and 
convert the Pope ; in order whereunto, he, having a 
better man than himself, John Luff, (or Love) to 
accompany him, travelled to Rome ; where they had 
not been long ere they were taken up, and clapped 
into prison. Luff, as . I remember, was put in the 
inquisition, and Perrot in their bedlam or hospital for 
madmen. 

Luff died in prison, not without well-grounded sus- 
picion of being murdered there; but Perrot lay there 



1667.J LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 187 

some time, and now and then sent over an epistle to be 
printed here, written in such an affected and fantastic 
style, as might have induced an indifferent reader to 
believe they had suited the place of his confinement to 
his condition. 

After some time, through the mediation of Friends, 
who hoped better of him than he proved, with some 
person of note and interest there, he was released, 
and came back to England. And the report of his 
great sufferings there (far greater in report than in 
reality), joined with a singular show of sanctity, so 
far opened the hearts of many tender and compas- 
sionate Friends towards him, that it gave him the 
advantage of insinuating himself into their affections 
and esteem, and made way for the more ready propa- 
gation of that peculiar error of his, of keeping on 
the hat in time of prayer, as well public as private, 
unless they had an immediate motion at that time to 
put it off. 

Now although I had not the least acquaintance with 
this man, not having ever exchanged a word with him, 
though I knew him by sight, nor had I any esteem of 
him, for either his natural parts, or ministerial gift, but 
rather a dislike of his aspect, preaching, and way of 
writing, yet this error of his being broached in the 
time of my infancy, and weakness of judgment as to 
truth, while I lived privately in London, and had little 
converse with Friends, I, amongst the many who were 
catched in the snare, w T as taken with the notion, as 
what then seemed to my weak understanding, suitable 



188 THE HIS TO 11 Y OF THE [1667 

to the doctrine of a spiritual dispensation. And the 
matter coming to warm debates, both in words and 
writing, I, in a misguided zeal, was ready to have en- 
tered the lists of contention about it; not then seeing 
w T hat spirit it proceeded from and was managed by, nor 
foreseeing the disorder and confusion in worship, w T hich 
must naturally attend it. But as I had no evil inten- 
tion or sinister end in engaging in it, but was simply 
betrayed by the specious pretence and show T of greater 
spirituality, the Lord, in tender compassion to my soul, 
was graciously pleased to open my understanding, and 
give me a clear sight of the Enemy's design in this 
work, and drew me off from the practice of it, and to 
bear testimony against it as occasion offered. 

But when that solemn meeting was appointed at 
London, for a travail in spirit on behalf of those who 
had thus gone out, that they might rightly return, and 
be sensibly received into the unity of the body again, 
my spirit rejoiced, and w^ith gladness of heart I went 
• to it, as did many more of both city and country, and 
with great simplicity and humility of mind, did honestly 
and openly acknowledge our outgoings, and take con- 
demnation and shame to ourselves. And some that 
lived at too remote a distance, in this nation, as well as 
beyond the seas, upon notice given of that meeting, 
and the intended service of it, did the like by writing, 
in letters directed to and openly read in the meeting ; 
which, for that purpose, was continued many days. 

Thus, in the motion of Life, were the healing waters 
etirred ; and many, through the virtuous power thereof, 



1667.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. ^§9 

restored to soundness, and indeed not many were lost. 
And though most of these who thus returned were such 
as with myself had before renounced the error, and 
forsaken the practice, yet did we sensibly find, that 
forsaking without confessing, in case of public scandal, 
was not sufficient ; but that an open acknowledgment 
of open offences, as well as forsaking them, was neces- 
sary to the obtaining complete remission. 

Not long after this, George Fox was moved of the 
Lord to travel through the country, from county to 
county, to advise and encourage Friends to set up 
Monthly and Quarterly Meetings, for the better order- 
ing the affairs of the church, in taking care of the poor, 
and exercising a true gospel discipline ; for a due deal- 
ing with any that might walk disorderly in our name ; 
and to see that such as should marry amongst us, did 
act fairly and clearly in that respect. 

When he came into this countv, I was one of the 
many Friends that were with him at the meeting for 
that purpose. And afterwards I travelled with Guli 
and her maid, into the West of England, to meet him 
there, and to visit Friends in those parts ; and we went 
as far as Topsham, in Devonshire, before we found him. 
He had been in Cornwall, and was then returning, 
and came in unexpectedly at Topsham, where we then 
were providing, if he had not then come thither, to 
have gone that day towards Cornwall. But after he 
was come to us, Ave turned back with him through De- 
vonshire, Somersetshire, and Dorsetshire, having gene- 
rally very good meetings where he was ; and the work 



190 THE HISTORY OF THE [1667. 

he was chiefly concerned in, went on very prosperously 
and well, without any opposition or dislike; save that 
in the General Meeting of Friends in Dorsetshire, a 
quarrelsome man, who had gone out from Friends in 
John Perrot's business, and had not come rightly in 
again, but continued in the practice of keeping on his 
hat in time of prayer, to the great trouble and offence 
of Friends, began to .cavil and raise disputes, which 
occasioned some interruption and disturbance. 

Not only George, and Alexander Parker who was 
with him, but divers of the ancient Friends of that 
country, endeavoured to quiet that troublesome man, 
and make him sensible of his error ; but his unruly 
spirit would still be opposing what was said unto him, 
and justifying himself in that practice. This brought 
a great weight and exercise upon me, who sat at a 
distance in the outward part of the meeting ; and after 
I had for some time borne the burden thereof, I stood 
up in the constraining power of the Lord, and in great 
tenderness of spirit declared unto the meeting, and to 
that person more particularly, how it had been with me 
in that respect ; how I had been betrayed into that 
wrong practice, how strong I had been therein, and 
how the Lord had been graciously pleased to show me 
the evil thereof, and recover me out of it. 

This coming unexpectedly from me, a young man, a 
stranger, and one who had not intermeddled with the 
business of the meeting, had that effect upon the ca- 
viller, that if it did not satisfy him, it did at least 
silence him; and made him, for the present, sink down 



1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 191 

and be still, without giving any further disturbance to 
the meeting. And the Friends were well pleased with 
this unlooked for testimony from me, and I was glad 
that I had that opportunity to confess to the Truth; 
and to acknowledge once more, in so public a manner, 
the mercy and goodness of the Lord to me therein. 



CHAPTER VI. 

1669-1670. 

Mairiage engagement with Mary Ellis — Journey with Guli Springett into 
Sussex — John Gigger — Insulting attack by one of the Duke of York's 
retainers — Tunbridge Wells — Return home — Marriage — Care to se- 
cure his wife's property to her — Second journey into Kent and Sussex 
— Unkind behaviour of his father — A song of Praise — Return home — 
Melancholy death of I. Penington's son — Disputation between William 
Penn and Jeremy Ives — The "Conventicle Act" — Encouragement 
given to Informers — Persecution renewed — The drunken Informer 
detected — A well-matched pair — A false oath against Thomas Zachary 
— An unjust Justice commits him to jail — Knavery detected — Prosecu- 
tion of Informers — Conviction of wilful perjury — Informer's trade 
broken up in Bucks. 

By the time we came back from this journey, the 
summer was pretty far gone, and the following winter 
I spent with the children of the family as before, with- 
out any remarkable alteration in my circumstances, 
until the next spring, when I found in myself a dispo- 
sition of mind to change my single life for a married 
state. 



192 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669 

I had always entertained so high a regard for mar- 
riage, as it was a divine institution, that I held it not 
lawful to make it a sort of political trade, to rise in the 
world by. And therefore, as I could not but in my 
judgment blame such as I found made it their business 
to hunt after, and endeavour to gain, those w 7 ho were 
accounted great fortunes, — not so much regarding 
what she is, as w T hat she has, and making wealth the 
chief, if not the only thing they aimed at, — so I re- 
solved to avoid in my ow T n practice that course; and 
how much soever my condition might have prompted 
me, as well as others, to seek advantage that way, 
never to engage on the account of riches, nor at all to 
marry, till judicious affection drew me to it, w r hich I 
now began to feel at work in my breast. 

The object of this affection was a Friend, whose name 
w r as Mary Ellis, w T hom for divers years I had had an 
acquaintance with, in the way of common friendship 
only ; and in whom I thought I then saw those fair 
prints of truth and solid virtue, which I afterwards 
found in a sublime degree in her ; but what her condi- 
tion in the world was as to estate, I was wholly a 
stranger to, nor desired to know. 

I had once, a year or two before, had an opportunity 
to do her a small piece of service, which she wanted 
some assistance in; wherein I acted with all sincerity 
and freedom of mind, not expecting or desiring any 
advantage by her, or reward from her, being very well 
satisfied in the act itself, that I had served a friend, 
and helped the helpless. 



1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 19g 

That little intercourse of common kindness between 
us ended, without the least thought, I am verily per- 
suaded, on her part, well assured on my own, of any 
other or further relation than that of free and fair 
friendship ; nor did it, at that time, lead us into any 
closer conversation, or more intimate acquaintance one 
with the other, than had been before. 

But some time after, and that a good while, I found 
my heart secretly drawn and inclining towards her ; 
yet was I not hasty in proposing, but waited to feel a 
satisfactory settlement of mind therein, before I made 
any step thereto. After some time, I took an oppor- 
tunity to open my mind therein to my much honoured 
friends Isaac and Mary Penington, who then stood in 
the place or stead of parents to me. They having 
solemnly weighed the matter, expressed their unity 
therewith; and indeed their approbation thereof was 
no small confirmation to me therein. Yet took I fur- 
ther deliberation, often retiring in spirit to the Lord, 
and crying to him for direction, before I addressed 
myself to her. At length, as I was sitting all alone, 
waiting upon the Lord for counsel and guidance in 
this, in itself, and to me so important affair, I felt a 
word sweetly arise in me, as if I had heard a voice, 
which said, " Go, and prevail." And faith springing 
in my heart with the word, I immediately arose and 
went, nothing doubting. 

When I was come to her lodgings, which were about 
a mile from me, her maid told me she was in her 
chamber, for having been under some indisposition of 
IT 



-[94 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 

body, which had obliged her to keep her chamber, she 
had not yet left it ; wherefore I desired the maid to 
acquaint her mistress, that I was come to give her a 
visit ; whereupon I was invited to go up to her. And 
after some little time spent in common conversation, 
feeling my spirit weightily concerned, I solemnly 
opened my mind unto her, with respect to the particu- 
lar business I came about ; which I soon perceived was 
a great surprisal to her, for she had taken in an appre- 
hension, as others also had done, that mine eye had 
been fixed elsewhere, and nearer home. 

I used not many words to her ; but I felt a divine 
power went along with the words, and fixed the matter 
expressed by them so fast in her breast, that, as she 
afterwards acknowledged to me, she could not shut it 
out. 

I made at that time but a short visit. For having 
told her I did not expect an answer from her now, but 
desired she would, in the most solemn manner, weigh 
the proposal made, and in due time give me such an 
answer thereunto as the Lord should give her, I took 
my leave of her, and departed, leaving the issue to 
the Lord, 

I had a journey then at hand, which I foresaw would 
take about two weeks' time. Wherefore, the day 
before I was to set out, I went to visit her again, to 
acquaint her with my journey, and excuse my absence ; 
not yet pressing her for an answer, but assuring her, 
that I felt in myself an increase of affection to her, 
and hoped to receive a suitable return from her in the 






1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 195 

Lord's time ; to whom, in the mean time, I committed 
both her, myself, and the concern between us. And in- 
deed I found, at my return, that I could not have left 
it in a better hand ; for the Lord had been my advocate 
in my absence, and had so far answered all her objec- 
tions, that when I came to her again, she rather ac- 
quainted me with them than urged them. 

From that time forward, we entertained each other 
with affectionate kindness, in order to marriage ; which 
jet we did not hasten to, but went on deliberately. 
Neither did I use those vulgar w T ays of courtship, by 
making frequent and rich presents ; not only for that 
my outward condition would not comport with the ex- 
pense, but because I liked not to obtain by such means ; 
but preferred an unbribed affection. 

While this affair stood thus with me, I had occasion 
to take another journey into Kent and Sussex ; which 
yet I would not mention here, but for a particular 
accident which befell me on the way. The occasion of 
this journey was this. Mary Penington's daughter 
Guli intending to go to her uncle Springett's, in Sussex, 
and from thence amongst her tenants, her mother 
desired me to accompany her, and assist her in her 
business w T ith her tenants. 

We tarried at London the first night, and set out 
next morning on the Tunbridge Road, and Seven Oak 
lying in our w r ay, we put in there to bait. But truly, 
we had much ado to get either provisions or room for 
ourselves or our horses, the house was so filled with 
guests, and those not of the better sort. For the Duke 



196 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 

of York being, as we were told, on the road that day 
for the wells, divers of his guards, and the meaner sort 
of his retinue, had nearly filled all the inns there. 

I left John Gigger, who waited on Guli in this 
journey, and was afterwards her menial servant, to take 
care for the horses, while I did the like, as well as I 
could, for her. I got a little room to put her into, and 
having shut her into it, went to see what relief the 
kitchen would afford us ; and with much ado, by pray- 
ing hard and paying dear, I got a small joint of meat 
from the spit, which served rather to stay than satisfy 
our stomachs, for we were all pretty sharp set. 

After this short repast, being weary of our quarters, 
we quickly mounted, and took the road again, willing 
to hasten from a place where we found nothing but 
rudeness, for the roysterers who at time swarmed there, 
beside the oaths they belched out at one another, 
looked very sourly on us, as if they grudged us both 
the horses we rode on, and the clothes we wore. A 
knot of these rude people soon followed us, designing, 
as we afterwards found, to put an abuse upon us, and 
make themselves sport with us. We had a spot of fine 
smooth sandy way, whereon the horses trod so softly, 
that we heard them not till one of them was upon us. 
I was then riding abreast with Guli, and discoursing 
with her ; when on a sudden hearing a little noise, and 
turning mine eye that way, I saw a horseman coming 
up on the further side of her horse, having his left arm 
stretched out, just ready to take her about the waist, 
and pluck her off" backwards from her own horse, to 






1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. \Q^ 

lay her before him upon his. I had but just time to 
thrust forth my stick between him and her, and bid 
him stand off; and at the same time reining my horse, 
to let hers go before me, thrust in between her and 
him, and being better mounted than he, my horse run 
him off. But his horse being, though weaker than 
mine, yet nimble, he slipped by me, and got up to her 
on the near side, endeavouring to offer abuse to her ; 
to prevent which, I thrust in upon him again, and, in 
our jostling, we drove her horse quite out of the way, 
and almost into the next hedge. 

While we were thus contending, I heard a noise of 
loud laughter behind us, and turning my head that 
way, I saw three or four horsemen more, who could 
scarce sit their horses for laughing, to see the sport 
their companion made with us. From thence I saw it 
was a plot laid, and that this rude fellow was not to be 
dallied with ; wherefore I bestirred myself the more to 
keep him off, admonishing him to take warning in time, 
and give over his abusiveness, lest he repented too late. 
He had in his hand a short thick truncheon, which he 
held up at me ; on which laying hold with a strong 
gripe, I suddenly wrenched it out of his hand, and 
threw it at as far a distance behind me as I could. 
While he rode back to fetch his truncheon, I called up 
honest John Gigger, who was indeed a right honest 
man, and of a temper so thoroughly peaceable, that he 
had not hitherto put in at all. But now I roused him, 
and bid him ride so close up to his mistress' horse on 
the further side, that no horse might thrust in between, 
17* 



198 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 

and I would endeavour to guard the near side. But 
he, good man, not thinking it perhaps decent for him 
to ride so near his mistress, left room enough for an- 
other to ride between. And indeed so soon as our 
brute had recovered his truncheon, he came up directly 
thither, and had thrust in again, had not I, by a nim- 
ble turn, chopped in upon him, and kept him at bay. 

I then told him, I had hitherto spared him, but 
wished him not to provoke me further. This I spake 
with such a tone, as bespake a high resentment of the 
abuse put upon us, and withal pressed so close upon 
him with my horse, that I suffered him not to come up 
any more to Guli. This his companions, who kept an 
equal distance behind us, both heard and saw, and 
thereupon two of them advancing, came up to us. I 
then thought I might likely have my hands ' full ; but 
Providence turned it otherwise. For they, seeing the 
contest rise so high, and probably fearing it would rise 
higher, not knowing where it might stop, came in to 
part us ; which they did by taking him away, one of 
them leading his horse by the bridle, and the other 
driving him on with his whip, and so carried him off. 

One of their company stayed behind. And it so 
happening that a great shower just then fell, we betook 
ourselves for shelter to a thick and well-spread oak, 
which stood hard by. Thither also came that other 
person, who wore the Duke's livery ; and while we put 
on our defensive garments against the weather, which 
then set in to be wet, he took the opportunity to 
discourse with me about the man that had been so 



1669.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 199 

rude to us, endeavouring to excuse him by alledging 
that he had drunk a little too liberally. I let him know 
that one vice would not excuse another ; that although 
but one of them was actually concerned in the abuse, 
yet both he and the rest of them were abettors of it, 
and accessories to it ; that I was not ignorant whose 
livery they wore, and was well assured their lord would 
not maintain them in committing such outrages upon 
travellers on the road, to our injury, and his dishonour; 
that I understood the Duke was coming down, and that 
they might expect to be called to an account for this 
rude action. He then begged hard that we would pass 
by the offence, and make no complaint to their lord ; 
for he knew, he said, the Duke would be very severe ; 
and it would be the utter ruin of the young man 
When he had said what he could, he went off before 
us, without any ground given him to expect favour; 
and when we had fitted ourselves for the weather, we 
followed after at our own pace. 

When we came to Tunbridge, I set John Gigger fore- 
most, bidding him to lead on briskly through the town, 
and placing Guli in the middle, I came close up after 
her, that I might both observe, and interpose, if any 
fresh abuse should have been offered her. We were 
expected, I perceived ; for though it rained very hard, 
the street was thronged with men, who looked very 
earnestly at us, but did not put any affront upon us. 

We had a good way to ride beyond Tunbridge, and 
beyond the wells, in bye-ways among the woods, and 
were the later for the hinderance we had had on the 



200 THE HISTORY OF THE [1669. 

way. And when, being come to Harbert Springett's 
house, Guli acquainted her uncle what danger and 
trouble she had gone through on the way, he resented 
it so highly, that he would have had the persons prose- 
cuted for it. But since Providence had interposed, 
and so well preserved and delivered her, she chose to 
pass by the offence. 

When Guli had finished the business she went upon, 
we returned home, and I delivered her safe to her 
glad mother. From that time forward, I continued 
my visits to my best beloved friend, until we married, 
which was on the 28th day of the eighth month, 
called October, in the year 1669. We took each 
other in a select meeting, of the ancient and grave 
Friends of that country, holden in a Friend's house, 
where in those times not only the Monthly Meeting 
for business, but the Public Meeting for worship, was 
sometimes kept. A very solemn meeting it was ; and 
in a weighty frame of spirit Ave were, in which we 
sensibly felt the Lord with us, and joining us, the 
sense whereof remained with us all our life-time, and 
was of good service, and very comfortable to us on all 
occasions. 

My next care, after marriage, was to secure to my 
wife what moneys she had, and with herself bestowed 
upon me. For I held it would be an abominable crime 
in me, and savour of the highest ingratitude, if I, 
though but through negligence, should leave room for 
my father, in case I should be taken away suddenly, 
to break in upon her estate, and deprive her of any 



1669 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 201 

part of that which had been and ought to be her own. 
Wherefore, with the first opportunity, as I remember 
the very next day, and before I knew particularly w T hat 
she. had, I made my will, and thereby secured to her 
whatever I was possessed of, as well all that which she 
brought either in moneys or in goods, as that little 
which I had before I married her ; which indeed was 
but little, yet more by all that little than I had ever 
given her ground to expect with me. 

She had indeed been advised by some of her rela- 
tions to secure before marriage some part at least of 
what she had, to be at her own disposal. Which, 
though perhaps not w x holly free from some tincture of 
self-interest in the proposer, was not in itself the worst 
of counsel. But the worthiness of her mind, and the 
sense of the ground on w T hich she received me, w r ould 
not suffer her to entertain any suspicion of me ; and 
this laid on me the greater obligation, in point of grati- 
tude, as well as of justice, to regard and secure her; 
which I did. 

I had not been long married, before I was solicited 
by my dear friends Isaac and Mary Penington, and 
her daughter Guli, to take a journey into Kent and 
Sussex, to account with their tenants, and overlook 
their estates in those counties, which, before I was 
married, I had had the care of. And accordingly 
I undertook the journey, though in the depth of 
winter. 

My travels in those parts were the more irksome to 
me, from the solitariness I underwent, and the want of 



202 THE HISTORY OF THE [1609 

suitable society. For my business lying among the 
tenants, who were a rustic sort of people, of various 
persuasions and humours, but not Friends, I had little 
opportunity of conversing with Friends ; though 1 
contrived to be with them as much as I could, especially 
on the first day of the week. 

But that which made my present journey more 
heavy to me, was a sorrowful exercise which was newly 
fallen upon me from my father, harder to be borne 
than any I had ever met with before. He had, upon 
my first acquainting him with my inclination to marry, 
and to whom, not only very much approved the match, 
but voluntarily offered, without my either asking or 
expecting, to give me a handsome portion at present, 
with assurance of an addition to it hereafter. And 
he not only made this offer to me in private, but came 
down from London into the country, on purpose to be 
better acquainted with my friend ; and did there make 
the same proposal to her, offering also to give security 
to any friend or relation of hers for the performance. 
Which offer she most generously declined, leaving him 
as free as she found him. But after we were married, 
notwithstanding such his promise, he wholly declined 
the performance of it, under pretence of our not 
being married by the priest and liturgy. This usage, 
and evil treatment of us thereupon, was a great 
trouble to me ; and when I endeavoured to soften him 
in the matter, he forbade me speaking to him of it any 
more ; and even removed his lodgings that I might not 
find him. 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 203 

The grief I conceived on this occasion was not for 
any disappointment to myself, or to my wife ; for 
neither she nor T had any strict or necessary depend- 
ence upon that promise ; but my grief was partly for 
the cause assigned by him as the ground of it, which 
was, that our marriage was not by priest or liturgy ; 
and partly for, that his lower circumstances in the 
world might probably tempt him to find some such 
(though unwarrantable) excuse to avoid performing his 
promise. 

And surely hard would it have been for my spirit to 
have borne up under the weight of this exercise, had 
not the Lord been exceeding gracious to me, and 
supported me with the inflowings of his love and 
Life, wherewith he visited my soul in my travail. The 
sense whereof raised in my heart a thankful remem- 
brance of his manifold kindness in his former dealings 
with me. And in the evening, when I came to my 
inn, while supper was getting ready, I took my pen, 
and put into words what had in the day revolved in 
my thoughts. 

And thus it was : — 



A SONG OF PKAISE. 

Thy love, dear Father, and thy tender care, 
Have in my heart begot a strong desire 

To celebrate thy name with praises rare, 
That others too thy goodness may admire, 
And learn to yield to what Thou dost require. 



204 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

Many have been the trials of my mind, 

My exercises great, great my distress ; 
Full oft my ruin hath my foe designed, 

My sorrows then my pen cannot express, 

Nor could the best of men afford redress. 
"When thus beset, to Thee I lift mine eye, 

And with a mournful heart my moan did make ; 
How oft with eyes o'erflowing did I cry 

" My God, my God, oh do me not forsake ; 

"Begard my tears ; some pity on me take!" 
And to the glory of thy holy name, 

Eternal God, whom I both love and fear, 
I hereby do declare, I never came 

Before thy throne, and found thee loth to hear ; 

But always ready, with an open ear. 
And tho' sometimes Thou seem'st thy face to hide, 

As one that had withdrawn thy love from me, 
>Tis that my faith may to the full be tried, 

And that I thereby may the better see 

How weak I am, when not upheld by Thee. 
For underneath thy holy arm I feel, 

(Encompassing with strength as with a wall) 
That, if the Enemy trip up my heel, 

Thou ready art to save me from a fall: 

To Thee belong thanksgivings over all. 
And for thy tender love, my God, my King, 

My heart shall magnify Thee all my days, 
My tongue of thy renown shall daily sing, 

My pen shall also grateful trophies raise, 

As monuments to thy eternal praise. 

Having finished my business in Kent, I struck off 
into Sussex; and finding the Enemy endeavouring still 
more strongly to beset me ? I betook myself to the 



L670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 205 

Lord for safety, in whom I knew all help and strength 
was. 

As soon as I had despatched the business I went 
about, I returned home without delay, and to my great 
comfort found my wife well, and myself very welcome 
to her, both which I esteemed as great favours. 

Towards the latter part of the summer following, 
I went into Kent again ; and, in my passage through 
London, received the unwelcome news of the loss of 
a very hopeful youth, who had formerly been under 
my care for education. It was Isaac Penington, the 
second son of my worthy friends Isaac and Mary 
Penington, • a child of excellent natural parts, whose 
great abilities bespake him likely to be a great man, 
had he lived to be a man. He was designed to be 
bred a merchant, and before he was thought ripe 
enough to be entered thereunto, his parents, at some- 
body's request, gave leave that he might go a voyage 
to Barbadoes, only to spend a little time, see the place, 
and be somewhat acquainted with the sea, under the 
care and conduct of a choice Friend and sailor, John 
Grove, of London, who was master of a vessel, and 
traded to that Island ; and a little venture he had with 
him, made up by divers of his friends, and by me 
among the rest. He made the voyage thither very 
well, found the watery element agreeable, had his 
health there, liked the place, was much pleased with 
his entertainment there, and was returning home with 
his little cargo, in return for the goods he carried out ; 
when on a sudden, through unwariness, he dropped 
18 



206 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

overboard, and (the vessel being under sail with a brisk 
gale) was irrecoverably lost, notwithstanding the ut- 
most labour, care, and diligence of the master and 
sailors, to have saved him. This unhappy accident 
took from the afflicted master all the pleasure of his 
voyage ; and he mourned for the loss of this youth, as 
if it had been his own, yea only son : for as he was in 
himself a man of a worthy mind, so the boy, by his 
witty and handsome behaviour in general, and respect- 
ful carriage towards him in particular, had very much 
wrought himself into his favour. 

As for me, I thought it one of the sharpest strokes 
I had met with ; for I both loved the child very well, 
and had conceived great hopes of general good from 
him ; and it pierced me the deeper to think how deeply 
it would pierce his afflicted parents. 

Sorrow for this disaster was my companion in this 
journey, and I travelled the roads under great exercise 
of mind, revolving in my thoughts the manifold acci- 
dents which the life of man was attended with, and 
subject to, and the great uncertainty of all human 
things. I could find no centre, no firm basis, for the 
mind of man to fix upon, but the divine power and will 
of the Almighty. This consideration wrought in my 
spirit a sort of contempt of what supposed happiness 
or pleasure this world, or the things that are in and of 
it, can of themselves yield, and raised my contempla- 
tion higher, which as it ripened, and came to some 
degree of digestion, I breathed forth in mournful 
accents. 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 207 

• 

About this time, as I remember, it was that some 
bickerings happened between certain Baptists and some 
of the people called Quakers, in or about High Wy- 
combe, in Buckinghamshire, occasioned by some re- 
flecting words a Baptist preacher had publicly uttered 
in one of their meetings there, against the Quakers in 
general, and William Penn in particular. It came at 
length to this issue, that a meeting for a public dispute 
was appointed to be holden at West Wycombe, between 
Jeremy Ives, who espoused his brother's cause, and 
William Penn. 

To this meeting, it being so near me, I went, rather 
to countenance the cause, than for any delight I took 
in such work ; for indeed, I have rarely found the 
advantage equivalent to the trouble and danger arising 
from those contests. For which cause I would not 
choose them ; as, being justly engaged, I would not 
refuse them. 

The issue of this proved better than I expected. 
For Ives having undertaken an ill cause, to argue 
against the Divine Light and universal Grace, conferred 
by God on all men ; — when he had spent his stock of 
arguments, which he brought with him on that subject, 
finding his work go on heavily, and the auditory not 
well satisfied, he stepped down from his seat and de- 
parted, w r ith purpose to have broken up the assembly. 
But, except some few of his party who followed him, 
the people generally stayed, and were the more atten- 
tive to w r hat was afterwards delivered amongst them. 
Which Ives understanding, came in again, and in an 



208 THE HISTORY OF THE [1070. 

angry railing manner expressing his dislike that we 
went not at all away when he did, gave more disgust 
to the people. 

After the meeting was ended, I sent to my friend 
Isaac Penington, by his son and servant, who returned 
home, though it was late, that evening, a short account 
of the business, in the following distich: 

Prcevahiit Veritas: Inimici Terga dedere: 
Nos sumas in into; Laus tribuenda Deo. 

Truth hath prevailed ; the enemies did fly, 
We are in safety; praise to God on high. 

But both they and we had quickly other work found 
us. It soon became a stormy time. The clouds had 
been long gathering, and threatened a tempest. The 
parliament had sat some time before, and hatched 
that unaccountable law, which was called the Con- 
venticle Act ; if that may be allowed to be called a 
law, by whomsoever made, which was so directly con- 
trary to the fundamental laws of England, to com- 
mon justice, equity, and right reason, as this mani- 
festly was. 

First. It broke down and over-run the bounds and 
banks, anciently set for the defence and security of 
Englishmen's lives, liberties, and properties, viz : Trial 
by Juries. Instead thereof, directing and authorizing 
justices of the peace, and that too privately, out of 
sessions, to convict, fine, and by their warrants distrain 
upon offenders against it ; directly contrary to the 
Great Charter. 






1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 209 

Secondly. By that act the informers, who swear 
for their own advantage, as being thereby entitled to 
a third part of the fines, were many times concealed, 
driving on an underhand private trade ; so that men 
might be and often were convicted and fined, without 
having any notice or knowledge of it, till the officers 
came and took away their goods ; nor even then could 
they tell by whose evidence they were convicted. 
Than which, what could be more opposite to common 
justice, which requires that every man should be 
openly charged, and have his accuser face to face, that 
he might both answer for himself before he be con- 
victed, and object to the validity of the evidence given 
against him. 

Thirdly. By that act, the innocent were punished 
for the offences of the guilty. If the wife or child 
was convicted of having been at one of those assem- 
blies, w 7 hich by that act was adjudged unlawful, the 
fine was levied on the goods of the husband or father 
of such wife or child, though he was neither present 
at such assembly, nor was of the same religious per- 
suasion that they were of, but perhaps an enemy to it. 

Fourthly. It was left in the arbitrary pleasure of 
the justices, to lay half the fine for the house or 
ground where such assembly was holden, and half the 
fine for a pretended unknown preacher ; and the whole 
fines of such and so many of the meeters as they 
should account poor, upon any other or others of the 
people, who were present at the same meeting, not 
exceeding a certain limited sum ; without any regard 
18* 



910 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

to equity or reason. And yet, such blindness 'loth the 
spirit of persecution bring on men, otherwise sharp- 
sighted enough, that this unlawful, unjust, unequal, 
unreasonable, and unrighteous law took place in almost 
all places, and was vigorously prosecuted against the 
meetings of Dissenters in general, though the brunt 
of the storm fell most sharply on the people called 
Quakers ; not that it seemed to be more particularly 
levelled at them, but that they stood more fair, steady, 
and open, as a butt to receive all the shot that came, 
while some others found means and freedom to retire 
to coverts for shelter. 

No sooner had the Bishops obtained this law, for 
suppressing all other meetings than their own, but 
some of the clergy of most ranks, and some others too, 
who were over much bigoted to that party, bestirred 
themselves with might and main, to find out and 
encourage the most profligate wretches to turn inform- 
ers ; and to get such persons into parochial offices, as 
would be most obsequious to their commands, and 
ready at their beck, to put it into the most rigorous 
execution. Yet it took not alike in all places ; some 
being forwarder in the work than others, according as 
the agents, intended to be chiefly employed therein, 
had been predisposed thereunto. 

For in some parts of the nation care had been 
timely taken, by some not of the lowest rank, to 
choose out some particular persons, men of sharp w T it, 
close countenances, pliant tempers, and deep dissimu- 
lation, and send them forth among the sectaries, so 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 211 

called; with instructions to thrust themselves into all 
societies, conform to all or any sort of religious 
profession, Proteus-like change their shapes, and trans- 
form themselves from one religious profession to 
another, as occasion should require. In a word, to 
be all things to all ; not that they might win some, but 
that they might if possible ruin all, at least many. 

The drift of this design was, that they who employed 
them might, by this means, get a full account, what 
number of Dissenters' meetings, of every sort, there 
were in each county, and where kept ; what -number of 
persons frequented them, and of what ranks ; who 
amongst them were persons of estate, and where they 

lived ; that when they should afterwards have troubled 

■ 

the waters, they might the better know where, with 
most advantage, to cast their nets. 

One of these emissaries, whose post was assigned 
him in this county of Bucks, adventured to thrust 
himself upon a Friend, under the counterfeit appear- 
ance of a Quaker ; but being by the Friend suspected, 
and thereupon dismissed unentertained, he was forced 
to betake himself to an inn or alehouse for accommo- 
dation. Long he had not been there, ere his unruly 
nature, not to be kept under by the curb of a feigned 
sobriety, broke forth into open profaneness ; so true is 
that of the poet, 

Naturam expellas furca licet, usqite recurret. 

To fuddling now falls he with those whom he found 
tippling there before ; and who but he amongst them ! 



212 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670 

In him was then made good the proverb, In Vino Ve 
vitas ; for in his cups he out with that which was nc 
doubt to have been kept a secret. 'Twas to his pot 
companions that, after his head was somewhat heated 
with strong liquors, he discovered that he was sent 
forth by Dr. Mew, the then Vice-Chancellor of Oxford, 
on the design before related, and under the protection 
of Justice Morton, a warrant under whose hand and 
seal he there produced. 

Sensible of his error too late, when sleep had restored 
him to some degree of sense, and discouraged with this 
ill success of his attempt upon the Quakers, he quickly 
left that place, and crossing through the country, cast 
himself among the Baptists, at a meeting which they 
held in a private place ; of which, the over-easy credu- 
lity of some that went amongst them, with w T hom he 
had craftily insinuated himself, had given him notice. 
The entertainment he found amongst them deserved a 
better return than he made them ; for, having smoothly 
wrought himself into their good opinion, and cunningly 
drawn some of them into an unwary openness and 
freedom of conversation with him, upon the unpleasing 
subject of the severity of those times, he most villain- 
ously impeached one of them, whose name was Head- 
ach, a man well reputed amongst his neighbours, of 
having spoken treasonable words ; and thereby brought 
the man in danger of losing both his estate and life, 
had not a seasonable discovery of his abominable prac- 
tices elsewhere, imprinting terror, the effect of guilt 
upon him, caused him to fly both out of the court and 






1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 218 

country, at that very instant of time, when the honest 
man stood at the bar, ready to be arraigned upon his 
false accusation. This his false charge against that 
Baptist left him no further room to play the hypocrite 
in those parts. Off therefore go his cloak and vizor. 
And now he openly appears in his proper colours, to 
disturb the assemblies of God's people ; this being 
indeed the very end for which the design at first was 
laid. . 

But, because the law provided that a conviction must 
be grounded upon the oaths of two witnesses, it was 
needful for him, in order to the carrying on his in- 
tended mischief, to find out an associate, who might be 
both sordid enough for such an employment, and vicious 
enough to be his companion. This was not an easy 
task ; yet he found out one, who had already given an 
experiment of his readiness to take other men's goods, 
being not long before released out of Aylesbury jail, 
where he very narrowly escaped the gallows, for having 
stolen a cow. 

The names of these fellows being yet unknown in 
that part of the country where they began their work, 
the former, by the general voice of the country, was 
called the Trepan ; the latter, the Informer, and from 
the colour of his hair, Red-head. • But in a little time 
the Trepan called himself John Poulter, adding withal, 
that Judge Morton used to call him John for the Kino; ; 
and that the Archbishop of Canterbury had given him 
a deaconry. That his name was indeed John Poulter, 
the reputed son of one Poulter, a butcher in Salisbury, 



214 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

and that he had long since been there branded for a 
fellow egregiously wicked and debauched, we were 
assured by the testimony of a young man then living 
in Amersham, who both was his countryman, and had 
known him in Salisbury, as well as by a letter from an 
inhabitant of that place, to whom his course of life had 
been well known. 

His comrade, who for some time was only called the 
Informer, was named Ralph Lacy, of Risborough, and 
surnamed the Cow-stealer : these agreed between them- 
selves where to make their first onset, which was to be, 
and was, on the meeting of the people called Quakers, 
then holden at the house of William Russell, called 
Jourdans, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, in the county 
of Bucks. That which was wanting to their accommo- 
dation, was a place of harbour, fit for such beasts of 
prey to lurk in ; for assistance wherein, recourse was 
had to parson Philips, none being so ready, none so 
willing, none so able to help them, as he. 

A friend he had in a corner, a widow woman, not 
long before one of his parishioners ; her name was 
Anne Dell, and at that time she lived at a farm called 
Whites, a bye-place, in the parish of Beaconsfield, 
whither she had removed from Hitchindon. To her 
these fellows were recommended by her old friend and 
parson. She with all readiness received them, her 
house was at all times open to them, what she had was 
at their command. Two sons she had at home with 
her, both at man's estate. The younger son, whose 
name was John Dell ? listed himself in the service of 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 215 

his mother's new guests, to attend on them as their 
guide, and to inform them, who were too much strangers 
to pretend to know the names of any of the persons 
there, whom they should inform against. 

Thus consorted, thus in a triple league confederated, 
on the 24th day of the fifth month, commonly called 
July, in the year 1670, they appeared openly, and 
began to act their intended tragedy upon the Quakers' 
Meeting at the place aforesaid, to which I belonged, 
and at which I was present. Here the chief actor, 
Poulter, behaved himself with such impetuous violence 
and brutish rudeness, as gave occasion for inquiry who 
or what he was. And soon was he discovered to be 
the Trepan, so infamous and abhorred by all sober 
people, and afterwards daily detected of gross im- 
pieties, and the felonious taking of certain goods from 
one of Brainford, whom also he cheated of money. 
These things raising an outcry in the country upon 
him, made him consult his own safety ; and leaving his 
part to be acted by others, he quitted the country as 
soon as he could. 

He being gone, Satan soon supplied his place, by 
sending one Richard Aris, a broken ironmonger of 
Wycombe, to join with Lacy in this service, prompted 
thereto in hopes that he might thereby repair his 
broken fortune. Of this new adventurer this single 
character may serve, whereby the reader may make 
judgment of him (as of the lion by his paw) that at 
the sessions holden at Wycombe, in October then last 
past, he was openly accused of having enticed one 



216 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

Harding of the same town, to be his companion and 
associate in robbing on the highway ; and proof was 
not wanting, that he had made bullets in order to that 
service, which charge Harding himself, whom he had 
endeavoured to draw into that heinous wickedness, was 
ready in court to prove upon oath, had not the prose- 
cution been discountenanced and smothered. 

Lacy, the cow-stealer, having thus got Aris, the 
intended highwayman, to be his comrade, they came 
on the 21st of the month called August, 1670, to the 
meeting of the people called Quakers, where Lacy, 
with Poulter, had been a month before ; and taking for 
granted, that the same who had been there before w T ere' 
there then, they went to a justice of the peace, called 
Sir Thomas Clayton, and swore at all adventure against 
one Thomas Zachary and his wife (whom Lacy under- 
stood to have been there the month before) that they 
were then present in that meeting ; whereas neither the 
said Thomas Zachary nor his wife were at that meet- 
ing, but w^ere both of them in London, above twenty 
miles distant, all that da}^, having been there some time 
before and after. Which notwithstanding, upon the 
false oath of these false men, the justice laid fines upon 
the said Thomas Zachary of £10 for his own offence, 
£10 for his wife's, and £10 for the offence of a pre- 
tended preacher, though indeed there w T as not any that 
preached at that meeting that day ; and issued forth 
his warrant to the officers of Beaconsfield, where 
Thomas Zachary dwelt, for the levying of the same 
upon his goods. 



1070.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 217 

I mention these things thus particularly, though not 
an immediate suffering of my own, because, in the 
consequence thereof, it occasioned no small trouble and 
exercise to me. For when Thomas Zachary, returning 
home from London, understanding what had been done 
against him, and advising what to do, was informed by 
a neighbouring attorney that his remedy lay in appeal- 
ing from the judgment of the convicting justice, to the 
general quarter sessions of the peace — he thereupon 
ordered the said attorney to draw up his appeal in form 
of law T , went himself with it, and tendered it to the 
justice. But the justice, being a man neither well 
principled nor well natured, and uneasy that he should 
lose the advantage, both of the present conviction and 
future service of such (in his judgment) useful men, as 
those two bold informers were likely to be, he fell 
sharply upon Thomas Zachary, charging him that he 
suffered justly, and that his suffering was not on a re- 
ligious account. 

This rough and unjust dealing engaged the good man 
to enter into further discourse with the justice, in 
defence of his own innocency. From which discourse 
the insidious justice, taking offence at some expression 
of his, charged him with saying, " The righteous are 
oppressed, and the wicked go unpunished.'' Which 
the justice interpreting to be a reflection on the go- 
vernment, and calling it an high misdemeanour, re- 
quired sureties of the good man to answer it at the 
next quarter sessions, and in the mean time to be bound 
to his good behaviour. But he, well knowing himself to 
19 



218 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

be innocent of having broken any law, or done in this 
matter any evil, could not answer the justice's unjust 
demand ; and therefore was sent forthwith a prisoner 
to the county jail. 

By this severity it was thought the justice designed 
not only to wreak his displeasure on this good man, 
but to prevent the further prosecution of his appeal ; 
whereby he should at once both oppress the righteous, 
by the levying of the fines unduly imposed upon him, 
and secure the informers from a conviction of wilful 
perjury, and the punishment due therefor, that so they 
might go on without control, in the wicked work they 
were engaged in. 

But so great wickedness was not to be suffered to go 
unpunished, or at least undiscovered. Wherefore, al- 
though no way could be found at present to get the 
good man released from his unjust imprisonment, yet 
that his restraint might not hinder the prosecution of 
his appeal, on which the detection of the informers' 
villainy depended, consideration being had thereof 
amongst some Friends, the management of the prose- 
cution was committed to my care, who was thought, 
with respect at least to leisure and disengagement from 
other business, most fit to attend it ; and very willingly 
I undertook it. 

Wherefore, at the next general quarter sessions of 
the peace, holden at High Wycombe in October follow- 
ing, I took care that four subsrantial witnesses, citizens 
of unquestionable credit, should come down from 
London, in a coach and four horses, hired on purpose. 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOB. 219 

These gave so punctual and full evidence, that Thomas 
Za chary and his wife were in London all that day 
whereon the informers had sworn them to have been at 
an unlawful meeting, at a place more than twenty miles 
distant from London, — that notwithstanding what en- 
deavours were used to the contrary, the jury found 
them Not Guilty. Whereupon the money deposited 
for the fines, at the entering of the appeal, ought to 
have been returned; and so was ten pounds of it, but 
the rest of the money being in the hand of the clerk 
of the peace, whose name was Wells, could never be 
got out again. 

Thomas Zachary himself was brought from Ayles- 
bury jail to Wycombe, to receive his trial ; and though 
no evil could be charged upon him, yet Justice Clay- 
ton, who at first committed him, displeased to see the 
appeal prosecuted, and the conviction he had made set 
aside by importunity, prevailed with the bench to re- 
mand him to prison again, there to lie until another 
sessions. 

While this was doing, I got an indictment drawn up 
against the informers Aris and Lacy, for wilful per- 
jury, and caused it to be delivered to the grand jury, 
who found the bill. And although the court adjourned 
from the town-hall to the chamber at their inn, in 
favour as it was thought to the informers, on supposi- 
tion we would not pursue them thither, yet thither they 
were pursued. There were two counsellors present 
from Windsor, the name of the one being Starky, and 
of the other, as I remember, Forster ; the former of 



220 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

whom I had before retained upon the trial of the 
appeal. I now retained them both, and sent them into 
court again, to prosecute the informers, upon this in- 
dictment; which the} 7 did so smartly, that the inform- 
ers being present, as not suspecting any such sudden 
danger, were of necessity called to the bar, and ar- 
raigned, and having pleaded Not Guilty, were forced 
to enter a traverse to avoid a present commitment ; all 
the favour the court could show them being to take 
them bail one for the other, though probably both not 
worth a groat, else they must have gone to jail for want 
of bail, which w r ould have put them beside their busi- 
ness, spoiled the informing trade, and broken the 
design. Whereas now they were turned loose again, to 
do what mischief they could until the next sessions. 

Accordingly they did what they could, and yet could 
make little or no earnings at it ; for this little step of 
prosecution had made them so known, and their late 
apparent perjury had made them so detestable, that 
even the common sort of bad men shunned them, and 
would not willingly yield them any assistance. 

The next quarter sessions was holden at Aylesbury, 
whither we were fain to bring down our witnesses again 
from London, in like manner, and at like charge, at 
the least, as before. And though I met with very 
great discouragements in the prosecution, yet I followed 
it so vigorously, that I got a verdict against the in- 
formers for wilful perjury ; and had forthwith taken 
them up, had they not forthwith fled from justice, ana 
hid themselves. However, I moved by my attorney, 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLW r OOD. 221 

for an order of court, directed to all mayors, bailiffs, 
high constables, petty constables, and other inferior 
officers of the peace, to arrest and take them up, wher- 
ever they should be found within the county of Bucks, 
and bring them to the county jail. 

The report of this so terrified them, that of all 
things dreading the misery of lying in a jail, out of 
which they could not hope for deliverance, otherwise 
than by at least the loss of their ears, they, hopeless 
now of carrying on their informing trade, disjoined. 
Aris fled the country, so that whatever gallows caught 
him, he appeared no more in this country. Lacy 
lurked privily for a while in woods and bye-places, till 
hunger and want forced him out ; and then casting 
himself upon an hazardous adventure, which yet proved 
to him the best course he could have taken, he w T ent 
directly to the jail, where he knew the innocent man 
suffered imprisonment by his means, and for his sake. 
Where asking for, and being brought to Thomas 
Zachary, he cast himself on his knees at his feet, and 
with appearance of sorrow, confessing his fault, did 
so earnestly beg for forgiveness, that he wrought 
upon the tender nature of that very good man, not 
only to put him in hopes of mercy, but to be his 
advocate by letter to me, to mitigate at least, if not 
wholly to remit the prosecution. To which I so far 
only consented, as to let him know, I would suspend 
the execution of the warrant upon him, according as 
he behaved himself, or until he gave fresh provoca- 
tion ; at which message the fellow was so overjoyed, 
19* 



999 THE HISTORY OF THE [1670. 

that relying with confidence thereon, he returned 
openly to his family and labour, and applied himself to 
business, as his neighbours observed and reported, 
with greater diligence and industry than he had ever 
done before. 

Thus began and thus ended the informing trade in 
these parts of the county of Bucks ; the ill success that 
these first informers found discouraging all others, how 
vile soever, from attempting the like enterprise there 
ever after. And though it cost some money to carry 
on the prosecution, and some pains too, yet, for every 
shilling so spent, a pound probably might be saved, of 
what in all likelihood would have been lost by the spoil 
and havoc that might have been made by distresses 
taken on their informations. 

But very angry w T as the convicting justice, whatever 
others of the same rank were, at this prosecution, and 
the loss thereby of the service of those " honest" men, 
the perjured informers. For as I heard an attorney, 
one Hitchcock, of Aylesbury, who was their advocate 
in court, say, U A great lord, a peer of the realm, 
called them so in a letter directed to him : whereby he 
recommended to him the care and defence of them and 
their cause." So he prevailed to have the oath of 
allegiance tendered in court to Thomas Zachary, which 
he knew he would not take, because he could not take 
any oath at all ; by which snare he was kept in prison 
a long time after, and, so far as I remember, until a 
general pardon released him. 

But though it. pleased the Divine Providence, who 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 223 

sometimes vouchsafes to bring good out of evil, to put 
a stop, in a great measure at least, to the persecution 
here begun, yet, in other parts, both of the city and 
country, it was carried on with very great severity and 
rigour ; the worst of men, for the most part, being set 
up for informers, — the worst of magistrates encoura- 
ging and abetting them, — and the worst of the priests, 
who first began to blow the fire, now seeing how it 
took, spread and blazed, clapping their hands, and 
hallooing them on to this evil work. The sense 
whereof, as it deeply affected my heart with a sympa- 
thising pity for the oppressed sufferers, so it raised in 
my spirit a holy disdain and contempt, of that spirit 
and its agent, by which this ungodly work was stirred 
up and carried on. 



224 THE HISTORY OF THE [1671. 



CHAPTER VII. 

1671 — 1683. 

Faithfulness of Friends under persecution — Thomas Hicks — "A dia- 
logue between a Christian and a Quaker" — Answered by William 
Penn — Unfair dealing — Meeting for dispute, at Barbican — Another 
at Wheeler street meeting-house — "A Fresh Pursuit" — A contest for 
Christianity" — Answer, ''Forgery no Christianity" — Jeremy Ives — 
Fresh Controversy — "A Friendly Conference, <fcc." — Answered by 
"Truth Prevailing, Ac." — "The Foundation of Tithes Shaken" — 
Schism of John Wilkinson and John Story — William Rogers puts 
forth "The Christian Quaker Distinguished, &c." — Challenge, and 
meeting at Devonshire House — Preparation and Publication of "An 
Antidote, <fcc." — Continued persecution under the " Conventicle Act" — 
Publication of "A Caution to Constables, &c." — Fright of William 
Ayers — Illness of Guli Penn — Difficulty with two Justices — The 
Rye Plot — Extrication from the difficulty — Illegal committal of 
twenty-three Friends to Aylesbury prison. 

Scarcely was the before-mentioned storm of out- 
ward persecution from the government blown over, 
when Satan raised against us another storm, of another 
kind, on this occasion. The foregoing storm of per- 
secution, as it lasted long, so in many parts of the 
nation, and particularly at London, it fell very sharp 
and violent, especially on the Quakers. For they, 
having no refuge but God alone to fly unto, could not 
dodge and shift to avoid the suffering, as others of 
other denominations could, and in their worldly wisdom 
and policy did; altering their meetings,' with respect 
both to place and time, and forbearing to meet when 



1671.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 225 

forbidden, or kept out of their meeting-houses. So 
that of the several sorts of Dissenters, the Quakers 
only held up a public testimony, as a standard or 
ensign of religion, by keeping their meetings duly 
and fully, at the accustomed times and places, so long 
as they were suffered to enjoy the use of their meet- 
ing houses; and when they were shut up, and Friends 
kept out of them by force, they assembled in the 
streets, as near to their meeting-houses as they could. 

This bold and Christian behaviour in the Quakers, 
disturbed and not a little displeased the persecutors, 
who, fretting, complained that the stubborn Quakers 
brake their strength, and bore off the blow from those 
other Dissenters, whom, as they most feared, so they 
principally aimed at. For indeed the Quakers they 
rather despised than feared, as being a people, from 
whose peaceable principles and practices they held 
themselves secure from danger ; whereas, having suffered 
severely, and that lately too, by and under the other 
Dissenters, they thought they had just cause to be 
apprehensive of danger from them, and good reason to 
suppress them. 

On the other hand, the more ingenuous among other 
Dissenters of each denomination, sensible of the ease 
they enjoyed by our bold and steady suffering, which 
abated the heat of the persecutors, and blunted the 
edge of the sword before it came to them, franklv ac- 
knowledged the benefit received ; calling us the bul- 
wark, that kept off the force of the stroke from them ; 
and praying that we might be preserved, and enabled 



226 THE HISTORY OF THE [1673 

to break the strength of the enemy ; nor could some 
of them forbear, those especially who were called Bap- 
tists, to express their kind and favourable opinion of 
us, and of the principles we professed, which em- 
boldened us to go through that, which but to hear of 
was a terror to them. 

This their good-will raised ill-will in some of their 
teachers against us ; who, though willing to reap the 
advantage of a shelter, by a retreat behind us during 
the time that the storm lasted, yet partly through an 
evil emulation, partly through fear lest they should lose 
some of those members of their society, who had dis- 
covered such favourable thoughts of our principles and 
us, — they set themselves, as soon as the storm was over, 
to represent us in as ugly a dress, and as frightful a 
figure to the world, as they could invent and put upon 
us. 

In order whereunto, one Thomas Hicks, a preacher 
among the Baptists at London, took upon him to write 
several pamphlets successively, entitled "A Dialogue 
between a Christian and a Quaker;" which were so 
craftily contrived, that the unwary reader might con- 
clude them to be not merely fictions, but real discour- 
ses, actually held between one of the people called 
Quakers, and some other person. In these feigned 
dialogues, Hicks, having no regard to justice or com- 
mon honesty, had made his counterfeit Quaker say 
whatsoever he thought would render him one while suf- 
ficiently erroneous, another while ridiculous enough ; 
forging, in the Quaker's name, some things so abomi- 



1674.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOGD. 227 

nably false, other things so intolerably foolish, as could 
not reasonably be supposed to have come into the con- 
ceit, much less to have dropped from the lip or pen, of 
any that went under the name of a Quaker. 

These dialogues were answered by our friend William 
Penn, in two books; the first being entitled "-Reason 
against Railing," the other the " Counterfeit Christian 
detected ;" in which Hicks being charged with manifest 
as well as manifold forgeries, perversions, downright 
lies, and slanders against the people called Quakers in 
general, William Penn, George Whitehead, and divers 
others by name, complaint was made, by way of an 
appeal to the Baptists in and about London, for justice 
against Thomas Hicks. 

Those Baptists, who it seems were in the plot with 
Hicks, to defame at any rate, right or wrong, the 
people called Quakers, taking the advantage of the ab- 
sence of William Penn and George Whitehead, who 
were the persons most immediately concerned, and who 
were then gone a long journey on the service of 
Truth, to be absent from the city, in all probability, 
for a considerable time, appointed a public meeting in 
one of their meeting-houses, under pretence of calling 
Thomas Hicks to account, and hearing the charge made 
good against him ; but with design to give the greater 
stroke to the Quakers, when they, who should make 
good the charge against Hicks, could not be present. 
For upon sending notice of their intended meeting, to 
the lodgings of William Penn and George Whitehead, 
they were told by several Friends that both William 



228 THE HISTORY OF THE [1671. 

Penn and George Whitehead were from home, travel- 
ling in the countries, uncertain where ; and therefore 
could not be informed of their intended meeting, either 
by letter or express, within the time by them limited ; 
for which reason they were desired to defer the meet- 
ing till they could have notice of it, and time to return. 
But these Baptists, whose design was otherwise laid, 
would not to be prevailed with to defer their meeting ; 
but glad of the advantage, gave their brother Hicks 
opportunity to make a colourable defence, where he 
had his party to help him, and none to oppose him; 
and having made a mock show of examining him and 
his works of darkness, they in fine, having heard one 
side, acquitted him. 

This gave just occasion for a new complaint, and 
demand of justice against him and them. For as soon 
as William Penn returned to London, he in print 
exhibited his complaint of this unfair dealing, and de- 
manded justice, by a re-hearing of the matter in a 
public meeting, to be appointed by joint agreement. 
This went down hardly with the Baptists, nor could it 
be obtained from them, without great importunity and 
hard pressing. At length, after many delays and 
tricks used to shift it off, constrained by necessity, they 
yielded to have a meeting at their own meeting-house, 
in Barbican, London. 

There amongst other Friends was I, who undertook 
to read our charge there against Thomas Hicks, which, 
not without much difficulty, I did ; they, inasmuch as 



1674.] LIFE OP THOMAS ELLWOOD. 229 

the house was theirs, putting all the inconveniencies 
they could upon us. 

The particular passages and management of this 
meeting I forbear to mention ; as also of another, 
which followed soon after, and was held in our own 
meeting-house, by Wheeler-street, Spitalfields ; there 
being in print a narrative of each, to which for further 
information I refer the reader. 

To this meeting Thomas Hicks would not come, but 
lodged himself at an ale-house hard by ; yet sent his 
brother Ives, with some others of his party, by clam- 
orous noises to divert us from the prosecution of our 
charge against him; w^hich they so effectually per- 
formed, that they would not suffer the charge to be 
heard, though often attempted to be read. As this 
rude behaviour of theirs was a cause of grief to me, 
so afterwards, when I understood that they used all 
evasive tricks to avoid another meeting with us, and 
refused to do us right, my spirit was greatly stirred at 
their injustice ; and in the sense thereof, willing, if 
possible, to have provoked them to more fair and 
manly dealing, I let fly a broadside at them, in a 
single sheet of paper, under the title of U A fresh 
Pursuit." In which, having re-stated the controversy 
between them and us, and reinforced our charge of 
forgery, &c. against Thomas Hicks and his abettors, I 
offered a fair challenge to them, not only to Thomas 
Hicks himself, but to all those, his compurgators, who 
had before undertaken to acquit him from our charge, 
together with his companion, Jeremy Ives, to give me 
20 



230 THE HISTORY OF THE [1674. 

a fair and public meeting, in which I would make good 
our charge against him, as principal, and all the rest 
of them as accessories. But nothing could provoke 
them to come fairly forth. 

Yet not long after, finding themselves galled by the 
narrative lately published of what had passed in the 
last meeting near Wheeler-street, they, to help them- 
selves if they could, sent forth a counter account of 
that meeting, and of the former at Barbican, as much 
to the advantage of their own cause, as they upon 
deliberate consideration could contrive it. This was 
published by Thomas Plant, a Baptist teacher, and 
one of Thomas Hicks' former compurgators, and bore 
(but falsely) the title of "A Contest for Christianity, 
or a faithful Relation of two late Meetings, &c." 

To this I quickly wrote and published an answer. 
And because I saw the design and whole drift of the 
Baptists was to shroud Thomas Hicks from our charge 
of forgery, under the specious pretence of his and 
their standing up and contending for Christianity, I 
gave my book this general title, " Forgery no Chris- 
tianity, or a Brief Examen of a late Book, &e." 
And, having from their own book plainly convicted 
that which they called a faithful relation to be indeed 
a false relation, I, in an expostulatory postscript to 
the Baptists, reinforced our charge and my former 
challenge, offering to make it good against them 
before a public and free auditory. But they were 
too wary to appear further, either in persor or in 
print. 



1675.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 231 

This was the end of that controversy; which was 
observed to have this issue — that what those dialogues 
were written to prevent, was-, by the dialogues, and 
their unfair, unmanly, unchristian carriage, in endea- 
vouring to defend them, hastened and brought to pass ; 
for not a few of the Baptists' members, upon this 
occasion, left their meetings and society, and came 
over to the Quakers' meetings, and w r ere joined in 
fellowship with them. Thanks be to God. 

Though many of the most eminent amongst the 
Baptists, in and about London, engaged themselves in 
this quarrel, to have defended, or at least, to have 
brought fairly oft', if it had been possible, their 
Brother Hicks, yet the main service lay upon Jeremy 
Ives : who, having been an unsuccessful trader in 
cheese, and therein failed more than once, had now 
for some time given over that employment, and under- 
took to be the champion for the Baptists, and to 
maintain their quarrels against all comers. His name 
was up for a topping disputant ; but indeed, on the 
best observation I could make of him, both now and 
formerly, I could not find him a clear and fair dis- 
putant. He seemed well read in the fallacies of logic, 
and indeed was rather ready than true and sound in 
framing syllogisms. But his chief art lay in tickling 
the humours of rude, unlearned, and injudicious 
hearers ; thereby insinuating himself into their good 
opinion, and then bantering his opponent. 

The controversy which had been raised by those 
cavilling Baptists, had not long been ended, before 



232 1 HE HISTORY OF THE [1676. 

another was raised by an Episcopal priest in Lincoln- 
shire, who fearing, as it seemed, to lose some of his 
hearers to the Quakers, wrote a book, which he mis- 
called, U A Friendly Conference between a Minister 
and a Parishioner of his inclining to Quakerism. " In 
this he mis-stated and greatly perverted the Quakers' 
principles, that he might thereby beget in his parish- 
ioners an aversion to them ; and that he might abuse 
us the more securely, he concealed himself, sending 
forth his book without a name. 

This book coming to my hand, it became my con- 
cern, after I had read it, and considered the evil 
management and worse design thereof, to answer it ; 
which I did in a treatise called, " Truth Prevailing, 
and Detecting Error," published in the year 1676. 

My answer I divided, according to the several sub- 
jects" handled in the conference, into divers distinct 
chapters, the last of which treated of Tithes. This 
being the priests' Delilah, and that chapter of mine 
pinching them it seems in a tender part, the belly, 
they laid their heads together, and, with what speed 
they could, sent forth a distinct reply to the last 
chapter of Tithes in mine, under the title of " The 
Right of Tithes asserted and proved." This also 
came forth without a name, yet pretended to be written 
by another hand. 

Before I had finished my rejoinder to this, came 
forth another, called, < ; A Vindication of the Friendly 
Conference;" said to be written by the author of the 
feigned conference, who was not yet willing to trust 



1670.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 233 

the world with his name. So much of it as related to 
the subject I was then upon, Tithes, I took into my 
rejoinder to the " Eight of Tithes," which I published 
in the year 1678, with this title, " The Foundation of 
Tithes Shaken, &c". 

After this it was a pretty while before I heard from 
either of them again. But at length came forth a 
reply to my last, supposed to be written by the same 
hand, who had before written " The Right of Tithes 
Asserted, &c," but still without a name. This latter 
book had more of art than argument in it. It was 
indeed a hash of ill-cooked crambe, set off with as 
much flourish as the author was master of, and swelled 
into bulk by many quotations; but those so wretch- 
edly misgiven, misapplied, or perverted, that to a 
judicious and impartial reader, I durst oppose my 
"Foundation of Tithes Shaken," to the utmost force 
that book has in it. Yet it coming forth at a time 
when I was pretty well at leisure, I intended a full 
refutation thereof; and in order thereunto had written 
between forty and fifty sheets, when other business 
more urgent intervening, took me off, and detained me 
from it so long, that it was then judged out of season, 
and so was laid aside. 

Hitherto, the war I had been engaged in was in a 
sort foreign, with people of other religious persuasions, 
such as were open and avowed enemies ; but now 
another sort of war arose, an intestine war, raised by 
some among ourselves ; such as had once been of us, 
and yet retained the same profession, and would have 
20* 



234 THE HISTORY OF THE [1680. 

been thought to be of us still; but having, through 
ill-grounded jealousies, let in discontents, and there- 
upon fallen into jangling, chiefly about church disci- 
pline, they at length brake forth into an open schism, 
headed by two northern men of name and note, John 
Wilkinson and John Story. The latter of whom, as 
being the most active and popular man, having gained 
a considerable interest in the west, carried the contro- 
versy with him thither, and there spreading it, drew 
many, too many, to abet him therein. 

Among these, William Rogers, a merchant of Bris- 
tol, was not the least, nor least accounted of, by him- 
self and some others. He was a bold and an active 
man, moderately learned, but immoderately conceited 
of his own abilities ; which made him forward to en- 
gage, as thinking none would dare to take up the 
gauntlet he should cast down. This high opinion of 
himself made him rather a troublesome than formidable 
enemy. 

He in a while arrived to that height of folly and 
wickedness, that he wrote and published a large book 
in five parts, to winch he maliciously gave for a title 
" The Christian Quaker distinguished from the Apos- 
tate and Innovator;" thereby arrogating to himself, 
and those w T ho were of his party, the topping style of 
Christian Quaker, and no less impiously than unchari- 
tably branding and rejecting all others, even the main 
body of Friends, for apostates and innovators. W 7 hen 
this book came abroad, it was not a little (and he for 
its sake) cried up by his injudicious admirers, whose 



16S1.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 235 

applause setting his head afloat, he came up to London 
at the time of the Yearly Meeting then following ; and 
at the close thereof, gave notice in writing to this effect 
— that if any were dissatisfied with his book, he was 
there ready to maintain and defend both it and himself 
against all comers. 

This daring challenge was neither dreaded nor 
slighted, but an answer forthwith returned in writing, 
signed by a few Friends, amongst whom I was one, to 
let him know, that as many were dissatisfied with his 
book and him, he should not fail (God willing) to be 
met by the sixth hour next morning, at the meeting- 
place, at Devonshire-house. 

Accordingly we met, and continued the meeting till 
noon or after ; in which time he, surrounded with those 
of his own party as might abet and assist him, was so 
fairly foiled and baffled, and so fully exposed, that he 
was glad to quit the place, and early next morning the 
town also ; leaving, in excuse for his going so abruptly 
off, and thereby refusing us another meeting with him, 
which we had earnestly provoked him to, this slight 
shift, that he had before given earnest for his passage 
in the stage-coach home, and was not willing to lose it. 

I had before this gotten a sight of his book, and 
procured one for my use on this occasion, but I had 
not time to read it through ; but a while after, Provi- 
dence cast another of them into my hands, very unex- 
pectedly ; for our dear friend George Fox passing 
through this county among Friends, and lying in his 
journey at my house, had one of them in his bags, 



936 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1682. 

which lie had made marginal notes upon. For that good 
man, like Julius Caesar, willing to improve all parts of 
his time, did usually, even in his travels, dictate to his 
amanuensis what he would have committed to writing 
I knew not that he had this book with him, for he had 
not said anything to me of it, till' going in the morn- 
ing into his chamber, while he was dressing himself, I 
found it lying on the table by him. And understand- 
ing that he was going but for a few weeks, to visit 
Friends in the meetings hereabouts, and the neighbour- 
ing parts of Oxford and Berkshire, and so return 
through this county again, I made bold to ask him if 
he would favour me so much as to leave it with me till 
his return, that I might have the opportunity of read- 
ing it through. He consented, and as soon almost as 
he was gone, I set myself to read it over. But I had 
not gone far in it, ere, observing the many foul false- 
hoods, malicious slanders, gross perversions, and false 
doctrines, abounding in it, the sense thereof inflamed 
my breast with a just and holy indignation against the 
w^ork, and that devilish spirit in which it was brought 
forth ; wherefore, finding my spirit raised, and my un- 
derstanding divinely opened to refute it, I began the 
book again, and reading it with pen in hand, answered 
it paragraphically as I went. And so clear were the 
openings I received from the Lord therein, that by the 
time my friend came back, I had gone through the 
greatest part of it, and was too far engaged in spirit, 
to think of giving over the work. Wherefore, request- 
ing him to continue the book a little longer with me, I 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 037 

soon after finished the answer, which, with Friends' 
approbation, was printed under the title of "An Anti- 
dote against the Infection of William Rogers's Book, 
miscalled, The Christian Quaker, &c." This was writ- 
ten in the year 1682. But no answer was given to it, 
so far as I have ever heard, either by him or any- 
other of his party, though many others were concerned 
therein, and some by name. Perhaps there might be 
a hand of Providence over-ruling them therein, to give 
me leisure to attend some other services, which soon 
after fell upon me. 

For it being a stormy time, and persecution waxing 
hot, upon the Conventicle Act, through the busy bold- 
ness of hungry informers, who, for their own advant- 
age, did not only themselves hunt after religious and 
peaceable meetings, but drove on the officers, not only 
the inferior and subordinate, but in some places even 
the justices also, for fear of penalties, to hunt with 
them, and for them, — I found a pressure upon my 
spirit, to write a small treatise, to inform such officers 
how they might secure and defend themselves from 
being ridden by those malapert informers, and made 
their drudges. This I called, " A Caution to Con- 
stables, and other inferior officers, concerned in the 
Execution of the Conventicle Act," &c. 

This was thought to have some good service where 
it came, upon such sober and moderate officers, as well 
justices, as constables, &c, who acted rather by con- 
straint than choice, by encouraging them to stand their 
ground, with more courage and resolution, against the 



238 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683 

insults of saucy informers. But whatever ease it 
brought to others, it brought me some trouble, and had 
like to have brought me into more danger, had not 
Providence wrought my deliverance by an unexpected 
way. For as soon as it came forth in print, which was 
in the year 1683, one William Ayrs, of Watford in 
Hertfordshire, a friend and acquaintance of mine, who 
was both an apothecary and barber, being acquainted 
with divers of the gentry in those parts, and going 
often to some of their houses to trim them, took one 
of these books with him, when he went to trim Sir 
Benjamin Titchborn, of Rickmansworth, and presented 
it to him, supposing he would have taken it kindly, as 
in like cases he had formerly done. But it fell out 
otherwise. For he, looking it over after Ayrs was 
gone, and taking it by the wrong handle, entertained 
an evil opinion of it, and of me for it, though he knew 
me not. 

He thereupon communicated both the book and his 
thoughts upon it to a neighbouring justice, living in 
Rickmansworth, whose name was Thomas Fotherly; 
who concurring with him in judgment, they concluded 
that I should be taken up and prosecuted for it, as a 
seditious book, for a libel they could not call it, my 
name being to it at length. Wherefore sending for 
Ayrs, who had brought the book, Justice Titchborn 
examined him if he knew me, and where I dwelt. Who 
telling him he knew me well, and had been often at my 
house, he gave him in charge to give me notice, that I 
should appear before him and the other justice at Rick- 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 239 

mansworth, on such a day ; threatening, that if I did 
not appear duly, he himself should be prosecuted for 
spreading the book. 

This put William Ayrs in a fright. Over he came 
in haste with this message to me, troubled that he 
should be a means to bring me into trouble. But I 
endeavoured to give him ease, by assuring him I would 
not fail, with God's leave, to appear at the time and 
place appointed, and thereby free him from trouble and 
danger. 

In the interim I received advice, by an express out 
of Sussex, that Guli Penn, with whom I had an inti- 
mate acquaintance, and firm friendship from our very 
youths, was very dangerously ill, her husband being 
then absent in Pennsylvania, and that she had a great 
desire to see and speak with me. This put me to a 
great strait, and brought a sore exercise on my mind. 
I was divided betwixt honour and friendship. I had 
engaged my word to appear before the justices ; which 
to omit would bring dishonour on me and my profes- 
sion. To stay till that time was come and past, might 
probably prove, if I should then be left at liberty, too 
late to answer her desire, and satisfy friendship. 

After some little deliberation, I resolved, as the best 
expedient to answer both ends, to go over next morn- 
ing to the justices, to lay my strait before them, and try 
if I could procure from them a respite of my appear- 
ance before them, until I had been in Sussex, and paid 
the duty of friendship to my sick friend. This I had 
the more hopes to obtain, because I knew those jus- 



240 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683, 

ticos had a great respect for Guli ; for when William 
Perm and vshe were first married, they lived for some 
years at Rickmansworth, in which time they contracted 
u neighbourly friendship with both these justices and 
theirs, who ever after retained a kind regard for them. 

Early therefore in the morning I rode over. But 
being wholly a stranger to the justices, I went first to 
Watford, that I might take along with me Ayrs, who 
supposed himself to have some interest in Justice Titch- 
born. When I came there, understanding that another 
Friend of that town, whose name was John Well's, was 
well acquainted with the other justice Fotherly, having 
imparted to them the occasion of my coming, I took 
them both with me, and hasted back to Rickmansworth. 
Where having put our horses up at an inn, and leaving 
William Ayrs, who was a stranger to Fotherly," there, 
I met with John Wells to Fotherly 's house ; and being 
brought into a fair hall, I tarried there while Wells 
went into the parlour to him ; and having acquainted 
him that I was there, and desired to speak with him, 
brought him to me with severity in his countenance. 

After he had asked me, in a tone which spake dis- 
pleasure, what I had to say to him, I told him I came 
to wait on him upon an intimation given me, that he 
had something to say to me. He thereupon, plucking 
my book out of his pocket, asked me if I owned myself 
to be the author of that book. I told him if he pleased 
to let me look into it, if it were mine, I would not deny 
it. He thereupon giving it into my hand, when I had 
turned over the leaves, and looked it through, finding 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 241 

it to be as it came from the press, I told him I wrote 
the book, and would own it, all but the errors of the 
press. Whereupon he, looking sternly on me, an- 
swered, "Your own errors, you should have said." 

Having innocency on my side, I was not at all 
daunted at either his speech or looks ; but feeling the 
Lord present with me, I replied, "I know there are 
errors of the press in it, and therefore I excepted 
them ; but I do not know there are any errors of mine 
in it, and therefore cannot except them. But," added 
I, "if thou pleasest to show me any error of mine in 
it. I shall readily both acknowledge and retract it;" 
and thereupon desired him to give me an instance, in 
any one passage in that book, wherein he thought I 
had erred. He said he needed not go to particulars ; 
but charge me with the general contents of the whole 
book. I replied that such a charge would be too gene- 
ral for me to give a particular answer to it ; but if he 
would assign me any particular passage, or sentence in 
the book, wherein he apprehended the ground of offence 
to lie, when I should have opened the terms, and ex- 
plained my meaning therein, he might perhaps find 
cause to change his mind, and entertain a better opinion 
both of the book and me. And therefore I again en- 
treated him to let me know what particular passage or 
passages had given him an offence. He told me I 
needed not to be in so much haste for that ; I might 
have it timely enough, if not too soon: "but this," 
said he, " is not the day appointed for your hearing ; 
and therefore, what, I pray, made you in such haste to 
21 



242 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 

come now?" I told him I hoped he would not take it 
for an argument of guilt, that I came before I was sent 
for, and offered • myself to my purgation before the 
time appointed. And this I spake with somewhat a 
brisker air, which had so much influence on him, as to 
bring a somewhat softer air over his countenance. 

Then going on, I told him I had a particular occa- 
sion which induced me to come now ; which was, that 
I received advice last night, by an express out of 
Sussex, that William Penn's wife, with whom I had an 
intimate acquaintance and strict friendship, almost 
from our cradle, lay now there very ill, not without 
great danger, in the apprehension of those about her, 
of her life ; and that she had expressed her desire 
that I would come to her as soon as I could; the 
rather, for that her husband was absent in America. 
That this had brought a great strait upon me, being 
divided between friendship and duty, willing to visit 
my friend in her illness, which the nature and law of 
friendship required ; yet unwilling to omit my duty, 
by failing of my appearance before him and the other 
justice, according to their command and my promise ; 
lest I should thereby subject, not my own reputation 
only, but the reputation of my religious profession, 
to the suspicion of guilt, and censure of willingly 
shunning a trial. To prevent which, I had chosen to 
anticipate the time, and come now, to see if I could 
give them satisfaction in what they had to object 
against me, and thereupon being dismissed, pursue my 
journey into Sussex. Or, if by them detained, to 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 943 

submit to Providence, and by an express to acquaint 
my friend therewith, both to free her from an expecta- 
tion of my coming, and myself from any imputation 
of neglect. 

While I thus delivered myself, I observed a sensible 
alteration in the justice ; and when I had done speak- 
ing, he said he was very sorry for Madam Penn's ill- 
ness, of whose virtue and worth he spake very highly, 
yet not more than was her due. Then he told me. 
that for her sake, he would do what he could to 
further my visit to her. "But," said he, U I am but 
one, and of myself can do nothing in it: therefore, 
you must go to Sir Benjamin Titchborn, and, if he 
be at home, see if you can prevail w x ith him to meet 
me, that we may consider of it. But I can assure 
you, the matter which will be laid to your charge con- 
cerning your book is of greater importance than you 
seem to think it. For your book has been laid before 
the King and Council ; and the Earl of Bridge- 
water, w T ho is one of the Council, hath thereupon 
given us command to examine you about it, and secure 
you." 

"I wish," said I, "I could speak with the Earl 
myself, for I make no doubt but to acquit myself unto 
him ; and if thou pleasest to give me thy letter to him, 
T will w^ait upon him w T ith it forthwith. For although 
I know that he hath no favour for any of my persua- 
sion, yet knowing myself to be wholly innocent in this 
matter, I can with confidence appear before him, or 
even before the King in council." 



244 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [16S3 

"Well," said he, "I see you are confident; but for 
all that, let me tell you, how good soever your intention 
was, you timed the publishing of your book very un- 
luckily ; for you cannot be ignorant, that there is a 
very dangerous plot lately discovered, contrived by the 
Dissenters, against the government and his Majesty's 
life.* And for you to publish a book, just at this 
juncture of time, to discourage the magistrates and 
other officers from putting into execution those laws 
which were made to suppress their meetings, looks, I 
must tell you, with but a very scurvy countenance 
upon you." 

"If," replied I, with somewhat a pleasanter air, 
"there was any mis-timing in the case, it must lie on 
the part of those plotters, for timing the breaking 
forth of their plot while my book was printing; for I 
can bring very good proof that my book was in the 
press, and well-nigh wrought off, before any man 
talked or knew of a plot, but those who were in it." 

Here our discourse ended, and I, taking leave of 
him for the present, went to my horse, and changing 
my companion, rode to Justice Titchborn's, having 
with me William Ayrs, who was best acquainted with 
him, and who had causally brought this trouble on me. 

When he had introduced me to Titchborn, I gave 
him a like account of the occasion of my coming at 
that time, as I had before given to the other justice. 



* This was the Eye Plot, then newly broken forth, and laid 
upon the Presbyterians. 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 245 

And both he, and his lady, who was present, expressed 
much concern for Guli Penn's illness. I found this 
man to be of quite another temper than Justice 
Fotherly; for this man was smooth, soft, and oily, 
whereas, the other was rather rough, severe, and sharp. 
Yet, at the winding up, I found Fotherly my truest 
friend. 

When I had told Sir Benjamin Titchborn that I 
came from Justice Fotherly, and requested him to give 
him a meeting, to consider of my business, he readily, 
without any hesitation, told me he would go with me 
to Rickmansworth, from which his house was distant 
about a mile; and calling for his horses, mounted 
immediately, and to Rickmansworth we rode. After 
they had been a little w^hile together, I w T as called in 
before them ; and in the first place they examined me, 
What was my intention and design in writing that 
book? I told them the introductory part of it gave 
a plain account of it, viz: "That it w^as to get ease 
from the penalties of a severe law, often executed w r ith 
too great a severity by unskilful officers, w T ho were 
driven on beyond the' bounds of their duty, by the 
impetuous threats of a sort of insolent fellows, as 
needy as greedy, who, for their own advantage, sought 
our ruin." To prevent which, was the design and 
drift of that book, by acquainting such officers how 
they might safely demean themselves, in the execu- 
tion of their offices, towards their honest and peace- 
able neighbours, without ruining either their neigh- 
bours or themselves, to enrich some of the worst of 
21* 



246 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683 

men. And that I humbly conceived, it was neither 
unlawful nor unreasonable for a sufferer to do this, 
so long as it was done in a fair, sober, and peaceable 
way. 

They then reminded me of the plot; told me it was 
a troublesome and dangerous time, and my book might 
be construed to import sedition, in discouraging the 
officers from putting the law T s in execution, as by law 
and by their oath they were bound. And in fine 
brought it to this issue, that they were directed to 
secure me, by a commitment to prison until the assize, 
at which I should receive a further charge than they 
were provided now to give me; but because they were 
desirous to forward my visit to Madam Penn, they told 
me they would admit me to bail; and therefore, if I 
w T ould enter a recognizance with sufficient sureties, for 
my appearance at the next assize, they would leave 
me at liberty to go on my journey. 

I told them I could not do it. They said, they 
would give me as little trouble as they could ; and 
therefore they would not put me to seek bail, but w T ould 
accept those twT> friends of mine, who were then pre- 
sent, to be bound with me for my appearance. 

I let them know T , my strait lay not in the difficulty 
of procuring sureties, for I did suppose myself to have 
sufficient acquaintance and credit in that place, if on 
such an occasion I could be free to use it ; but, as I 
knew myself to be an innocent man, I had not satis- 
faction in myself, to desire others to be bound for me, 
nor to enter myself in a recognizance; that carrying 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 247 

in it, to my apprehension, a reflection on my innocency, 
and the reputation of my Christian profession. 

Here we stuck and struggled about this a good while ; 
till at length, finding me fixed in my judgment, and 
resolved rather to go to prison than give bail, they 
asked me if I was against appearing, or only against 
being bound with sureties to appear. I told them I 
was not against appearing ; which as I could not avoid, 
if I would, so I would not if I might ; but was ready 
and willing to appear, if required, to answer whatso- 
ever should be charged against me. But in any case 
of a religious nature, or wherein my Christian profes- 
sion was concerned, which I took this case to be, I 
could not yield to give any other or further security 
than my word or promise as a Christian. 

They, unwilling to commit me, took hold of that, and 
asked if I would promise to appear. I answered 
" Yes, with due limitations." " What do you mean by 
due limitations," said they. " I mean," replied I, "if 
I am not disabled, or prevented by sickness or im- 
prisonment. For, as you allege that it is a trouble- 
some time, I perhaps may find it so. I may, for aught 
I know, be seized and imprisoned elsewhere, on the 
same account for which I now stand here before you, 
and if I should, how then could I appear at the assize 
in this county?" "Oh," said they, "these are due 
limitations indeed ! sickness or imprisonment are law- 
ful excuses ; and if either of these befal you, we shall 
not expect your appearance here ; but then you must 



248 T1IE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 

certify us, that you are so disabled by sickness or re- 
straint." 

u But," said I, " how shall I know when and where I 
shall wait upon you again after my return from Sussex ?" 
"You need not," said they, "trouble yourself about 
that ; we will take care to give you notice of both time 
and place, and till you hear from us, you may dispose 
of yourself as you please." 

" Well, then," said I, " I do promise you, that when 
I shall have received from you a fresh command to 
appear before you, I will, (if the Lord permit me life, 
health, and liberty) appear when and where you shall 
appoint." 

"It is enough," said they; "we will take your 
word:" and, desiring me to give their hearty respects 
and service to Madam Penn, they dismissed me, with 
their good wishes for a good journey. I was sensible 
that in this they had dealt very favourably and kindly 
with me, therefore I could not but acknowledge to 
them the sense I had thereof; w x hich done, I took leave 
of them, and mounting, returned home with w T hat haste 
I could, to let my wife know how I had sped. And 
having given her a summary account of the business, 
I took horse again ; and went so far that evening to- 
wards Worminghurst, that I got thither pretty early 
next morning ; and, to my great satisfaction, found my 
friend in a hopeful way towards a recovery. 

I stayed some days with her ; and then finding her 
illness wear dailv off, and some other friends being* 
come from London to visit her, I, mindful of my 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. £49 

engagement to the justices, and unwilling by too 
long an absence to give thein occasion to suspect I 
was willing to avoid their summons, leaving those 
other friends to bear her company longer, took my 
leave of her and them, and set my face homewards, 
carrying with me the welcome account of my friend's 
recovery. 

Being returned home, I waited in daily expectation 
of a command from the justices to appear again before 
them ; but none came. I spake with those Friends 
who had been with me when I was before them, and 
they said they had heard nothing of it from them, al- 
though they had since been in company with them. 
At length the assize came ; but no notice was given to 
me, that I should appear there. In fine, they never 
troubled themselves nor me any further about it. 

Thus was a cloud, that looked black and threatened 
a great storm, blown gently over by a providential 
breath ; which I could not but, with a thankful mind, 
acknowledge to the All-great, All-good, All-wise Dis- 
poser, in whose hand, and at whose command, the 
hearts of all men, even the greatest, are ; and who 
turns their counsels, disappoints their purposes, and 
defeats their designs and contrivances, as he pleases. 
For, if my dear friend Guli Penn had not fallen sick, 
if I had not thereupon been sent for to her, I had not 
prevented the time of my appearance, but had appeared 
on the day appointed ; and, as I afterwards understood, 
that was the day appointed for the appearance of a 
great many persons, of the dissenting party in that 



250 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 

side of the county, who were to be taken up and se- 
cured, on account of the aforementioned plot, which 
had been cast upon the Presbyterians. So that, if I 
had then appeared, with and amongst them, I had in 
all likelihood been sent to jail with them for company, 
and that under the imputation of a plotter; than 
which, nothing was more contrary to my profession and 
inclination. 

But though I came off so easy, it fared not so well 
with others ; for the storm increasing, many Friends, in 
divers parts, both of city and country, suffered greatly ; 
the sense whereof did deeply affect me, and the more, 
for that I observed the magistrates, not thinking the 
laws, which had been made against us, severe enough, 
perverted the law in order to punish us. For, calling 
our peaceable meetings riots, which in the legal notion 
of the word riot is a contradiction in terms, they in- 
dicted our Friends as rioters, for only sitting in a meet- 
ing, though nothing was there either said or done by 
them, and then set fines on them at pleasure. 

This I knew to be not only against right and justice, 
but even against law ; and it troubled me to think that 
we should be made to suffer, not only by laws made 
directly against us, but even by laws that did not at 
all concern us. Nor was it long before I had occasion 
offered more thoroughly to consider this matter. For 
a justice of the peace in this county, who was called 
Sir Dennis Hampson, of Taplow, breaking in with a 
party of horse upon a little meeting near Wooburn, 
in his neighbourhood, the first of the fifth month, 1683, 



1633.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 251 

sent most of the men, to the number of twenty-three, 
whom he found there, to Aylesbury prison, though 
most of them were poor men who lived by their labour ; 
and not going himself to the next quarter sessions at 
Buckingham, on the twelfth of the same month, sent 
his clerk, with directions that they should be indicted 
for a riot. Whither the prisoners were carried, and 
indicted accordingly ; and being pressed by the court 
to traverse and give bail, they moved to be tried forth- 
with, but that was denied them. And they, giving in 
writing the reason of their refusing bail and fees, were 
remanded to prison till next quarter sessions. But 
William Woodhouse was again bailed, as he had been 
before ; and William Mason and John Reeve, w T ho not 
being Friends, but casually taken at that meeting, 
entered recognizance as the court desired, and so were 
released till next sessions. Before which time Mason 
died, and Reeve being sick, appeared not, but got 
himself taken off. And in the eighth month following, 
the twenty -one prisoners that remained were brought 
to trial ; a jury was found, who brought in a pretended 
verdict, that they were Guilty of a Riot, for only 
sitting peaceably together, without word or action ; 
and though there was no proclamation made, nor they 
required to depart. One of the jurymen afterwards 
did confess he knew not what a riot was ; yet the 
prisoners were fined a noble a-piece, and re-committed 
to prison during life, or the King's pleasure, or until 
they should pay the said fines. William Woodhcuse 
was forthwith discharged, by his kinsman's paying the 



252 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683 

fine and fees for him. Thomas Dell and Edward 
Moore also, by other people of the world paying their 
fines and fees for them, and shortly after, Stephen 
Pewsey, by the town and parish where he lived, for 
fear his wife and children should become a charge 
upon them. The other seventeen remained prisoners 
till King James's proclamation of pardon; whose 
names were Thomas and William Sexton, Timothy 
Child, Robert Moor, Richard James, William and 
Robert Aldridge, John Ellis, George Salter, John 
Smith, William Tanner, William Batchelor, John 
Dolbin, Andrew Brothers, Richard Baldwin, John 
Jennings, and Robert Austin. 



The End of Thomas Ellwood's History of his own Life. 



1633.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. £53 



SUPPLEMENT 



BY JOSEPH WYETH. 



1683 — 1713. 

Reasons for adding the Supplement — Particular reference to Thomas 
Ellwood's writings — The reason why " The Right of Tithes re-asserted" 
was not answered — Thomas Ellwood's replies to William Rogers — 
His "Discourse concerning Riots" — His " Serious Dissuasive from 
Persecution" — "A Rod for William Rogers," in verse — An Epistle to 
Friends — Begins his Davideis — His reply to John Raunce and 
Charles Harris — His reply to James Hogg — Death of George Fox — 
Thomas Ellwood prepares his Journal — George Keith — Thomas 
Ellwood's epistle to Friends respecting the spirit and errors of George 
Keith — His "Further Discovery, &c." — "Truth Defended"— George 
Keith's stage of contention at Turner's-hall — Thomas Ellwood's "AnsAver 
to G#orge Keith's Narrative of his proceedings at Turner's-hall" — Two 
petitions against Friends — "A sober reply thereto" — Thomas Ellwood 
on baptism — His "Sacred History," first volume — Thomas Ellwood 
and William Sewel — " The Glorious Brightness of the Gospel Day, <fcc." 
— Prosecuted for Tithes — Seizure of his goods — "Sacred History," 
second volume — Prepares Life of Oliver Sansem for the press — 
Finishes the Davideis — His place of residence, and various services 
in the cause of Truth — General character — Sickness and death. 

Our dear friend, Thomas Ellwood, for whom we 
cannot but have an honourable esteem for his service 
in the Church, having written an historical account of 
part of his life, well worth the knowledge of posterity, 
so far as it goes, viz : to the year 1683, there left 
off. Whether he writ any further, or whether ever 
he designed it, or for what reason he did not proceed, 
22 



254 THE HISTORY OF THE [1676. 

is uncertain ; but so it is, that no more of it can be 
found at present ; it is to be lamented, he being a man 
so eminent many ways, that any part of it should be 
lost. In consideration whereof, it arose in my heart 
to write something in order to supply the deficiency, 
many things occurring to my mind, which it is a pity 
should be omitted. Therefore, for the respect I bore 
him, and owe to his memory, being acquainted with 
him for more than the last twenty years of his life, I 
shall endeavour to make up that defect, as far as I am 
capable, though far short of what himself might have 
done, by giving an account of some of the most 
material passages of the remaining part of his life, 
and such memorials of him and his works, as came to 
my hands : which I shall set down with as much brevity 
and plainness as I can, in sincerity to him, and the 
truth he professed and adorned. Particularly of his 
labours, writings, sufferings, and end, from the time he 
left off. 

But first I must look back a little, to give some 
additional account of some passages in relation to his 
answers to the priests about tithes, for the reader's 
information and satisfaction, which everybody may not 
know, to prevent misapprehensions in the case. 

In the year 1676 he answered a nameless book mis- 
called, "A Friendly Conference between a Minister 
and a Parishioner of his inclining to Quakerism," in 
a book entitled, " Truth prevailing and detecting 
Error." This he divided into nine chapters, according 
to the various subjects he treated of, (wherein that 



1678.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 255 

nameless author had endeavoured to misrepresent us,) 
the last of which was of tithes. "This" to use his 
own words, " pinching the priests in a tender part, the 
belly, (as Erasmus wittily said Luther did the Monks,) 
made them bestir themselves, and lav their heads 
together, to consider what was to be done." After 
divers debates and much consultation, (as he was 
informed) about it, it was at last resolved to answer 
that first, which, though the last chapter in his book, 
yet had it the first and chiefest place in the priests' 
minds and affections, " the priests' Delilah ; the very 
darling and minion of the clergy," says T. Ellwood, "the 
oil by which their lamp is nourished ; the pay by which 
their army is maintained, as the priest confesses ; and to 
take away tithes, would be to stop the oil that nourishes 
the lamp, and force them to disband for want of pay." 
This being, as I say, their chiefest concern, and lying 
nearest to the heart, obtained from them the first and 
chiefest defence ; which at length came forth by a 
nameless author also, in a book entitled, " The Right 
of Tithes asserted and proved." To which T. Ell- 
wood replied in 1678, in a large book, entitled, "The 
Foundation of Tithes shaken, and the four principal 
posts (of divine institution, primitive practice, volun- 
tary donation, and positive laws) on which the name- 
less author of the said book had set his pretended 
Right to Tithes, removed." Tracing them along from 
the patriarchs to the time of the law; showing the 
design and use ef them under it, and how they were 
abolished by the coming and suffering of Christ in 



256 THE HISTORY OF THE [J6S0. 

the flesh ; and how they came to be set up again in 
the declension of the church, by Popish kings and 
councils, in the night of apostacy, for superstitious 
and idolatrous ends and uses, contrary to the gospel 
dispensation, and consequently not obligatory on 
Christians, by any divine right, to pay in this gospel 
day; answering all the objections and pretences which 
w.ere brought by that author for them, from the four 
fore-mentioned topics. 

To this book of T. Ellwood's there w T as a pretended 
answer put forth two years after, supposed by the 
author of the former, but nameless still, the author not 
daring to own his work with his name, (though since 
called Comber's) entitled, " Right of Tithes re-as- 
serted ;" wherein the proofs from the four former points 
are said to be strengthened and vindicated, especially 
from the objections taken out of Mr. Seidell's History 
of Tithes. As if it was chiefly designed against John 
Selden, T. Ellwood's name, or book, not being so much 
as mentioned in the title-page, though often in the 
book; as if it was how T ever designed as an answ T er to 
him. This therefore T. Ellwood, though not entitled 
to it, took in hand to rejoin to, and had begun and 
made some considerable progress in it ; but before he 
had gone through or finished it, some other occasions 
falling in his way, (of which hereafter,) it was laid by 
and never finished; though he had writ, as he told me, 
near sixty sheets, (though I find but forty-six, among 
his papers ; but these, with his notes and quotations, 
will make nearer sixty) ; for he had collected a vast 



1680.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 257 

number of materials out of authors, in order thereto, 
as appears by his papers, which I have since seen. 
For thus it was, that some of the priests' party, vaunt- 
ing that this second book of the priests' was not an- 
swered, I took occasion once at London, in the year 
1692, to speak to him about it, and he told me that 
the substance of the priests' arguments, in this second 
book, were answered in his former, " The Foundation 
of Tithes Shaken," only some new quotations which 
he had brought ; and that was what he chiefly designed 
to deal with the priests about, to examine and clear, by 
adding some new ones also ; but that he never expected 
to have the last word with the priests about tithes, 
which their interest lay so much, in, that they would 
never be satisfied ; but always be cavilling about some 
way or other, how little soever it was to the purpose ; 
and some other services taking him off, (as aforesaid,) 
he laid it by. This I mention to satisfy any who may 
question in their minds why it was never answered, or 
at least gone through. And this is the reason why I 
resumed this matter. 

In a paper found among his manuscripts, being an 
introduction to his said intended answer, he says : — 

" In handling the argument of Tithes, I write with this dis- 
advantage, that I encounter a numerous party and order of 
men, with whom interest is far more prevalent than truth ; 
whose profit will not permit them to yield to reason; whose 
advantage will not suffer them to acknowledge the plainest 
demonstration ; their gain as apparently lying in that which I 
oppose, as Demetrius's and his fellow craftsmen the silversmiths 

22* 



258 THE HISTORY OF THE [1630. 

of Ephesns, did in that which the apostle preached against. 
Hence is it that they bend all their strength, and employ their 
utmost force to maintain this point, by which they are main- 
tained ; and, like those shrine-makers of old, they endeavour to 
carry it by noise and clamour, instead of truth and reason. Noi 
do they regard what they say, how false soever; or whom they 
bespatter, how undeservedly soever, in order to the upholding 
their adored Diana, and enjoying their most beloved Delilah, 
Tithes. My present adversary is not ashamed to say, that 
I and my fellow quaking speakers, (as he reproachfully calls 
us,) have our gain by railing against Tithes. A charge so appa- 
rently and ridiculously false, that it needs no more than its own 
malice and folly to detect it. With equal reason might Deme- 
trius have charged St. Paul, that he and his brethren had their 
gain by impugning the idolatrous worship of Diana." 

" Sacrilege and idolatry, the priests say, are sins near akin, 
but covetousness and the clergy are, perhaps, nearer. The great 
outcry against sacrilege is made, for the most part, by idolators 
and false ministers ; who, as they are most greedy and crafty to 
get, so are they most solicitous and careful to keep, most enraged 
and clamorous, when they come to lose their unjustly acquired 
gains. Thus was it with the popish clergy, after they had gulled 
the people by a religious cheat, of a great part of their sub- 
stance, they laboured .to terrify them by the name of sacrilege 
from attempting to recover that which had been so fraudently 
gotten from them, and doubtless the English clergy, as they 
derive in chief part the maintenance they possess, from their 
predecessors, the popish clergy, from whom they received their 
priesthood, have therewith also taken up from them their old 
cry of sacrilege, with which as a bugbear, they would scare all 
from attempting to discover the cheat. 

" But the legal alienation of a great part of those surreptitious 
acquisitions of the clergy began in Henry the VIII. 's time, car- 
ried on in Edward the VI. 's, and completed in Queen Elizabeth's 
(the two last being Protestant Princes), hath abated the edge of 
that clerical weapon, and satisfied the disinterested part of the 



1680.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 259 

nation, that the word sacrilege, in this ease, is but like a scare- 
crow, especially when used by the priests for their own profit, 
as most commonly it is; for though they pretend the mainte- 
nance of God's worship, yet it is their own maintenance they 
intend. 

" And herein Demetrius and they most partly agree ; for he also 
urged as the most specious pretence, and which was most likely 
to impress the people, the danger, lest, by Paul's preaching, the 
temple of the great goddess Diana should- be despised, and her 
magnificence destroyed. Acts xix. 27. Whereas the great in- 
ducement to him for stirring, was the danger lest his craft 
should be set at nought, and he should thereby lose the gains he 
made by Diana's temple, verses 25, 27. Do the priests now cry 
out against sacrilege? So did Demetrius and his craftsmen then. 
Did they cloak their private interest with a seeming regard and 
care for the temple and^magnificence of their goddess Diana? 
So do the priests theirs now, with a pretence of zeal for the wor- 
ship of God. Did they in their fury take no notice of the ma- 
gistrates, nor laws of their country? So neither do many of 
the priests now, who without regard to law or magistrates, run 
furiously and tumultuously into their neighbour's grounds, with 
their servants and teams, and forcibly and arbitrarily take and 
carry away their corn and hay, when, where, and in what quan- 
tity they please. AVill the priests allege, that notwithstanding 
these irregular practices, yet they have the laws and magistrates 
on their side? So had Demetrius and his company too; while 
the good Apostle, not backed by laws, nor countenanced by ma- 
gistracy, was yet enabled by Divine assistance, to stand the 
shock of all their rage and fury, and boldly to testify against 
that which was corrupt and naught, although it had the favour 
and support of a law and magistracy too ; and indeed, so apt is 
the comparison in most respects between those shrine-makers 
and these tithe-takers, that my adversary in vain labours to 
retort it; for even the very particulars he instances to cast it 
upon me, fix it more firmly on the head of himself and his own 
party. . 



260 THE HISTORY OF THE [1680. 

Nor is he less put to it to avoid the force of his own unwary 
expressions, of the oil for the lamp, and pay for the soldier, 
whereby he hath discovered that he and his brethren are mere 
mercenary men, whose lamp will burn no longer than it is fed 
with the oil of Tithes. This was one of the arcana cleri ; a 
secret, it seems, that should not have been divulged. But chil- 
dren, and he knows who beside, are said to tell true. And he 
having inconsiderately blabbed it out, his chief cue and art is 
now, how to palliate, extenuate and mince the matter, and var- 
nish it over with some kind of flourish, that the ground of it 
may not be seen ; but this he does so weakly, and lays his colour 
so thin, that even the weakest eye may easily see through it. 
The mention I made of these passages in my former book, he 
calls tedious and nauseous repetitions, and tedious no doubt, 
and nauseous it is to him and his brethren to see the false foun- 
dation of their ministry so openly exposed ; but so little do I 
fear these repetitions being nauseous or tedious to the indiffer- 
ent reader, that upon this occasion, I desire him to peruse them 
again, in the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth pages of my 
former book." 

" From Tithes being the oil to their lamp, and pay to their army," 
he says, "I draw as I imagine, a cutting consequence, viz. — 
That their lamps will not burn without oil, nor they fight with- 
out pay. This cutting consequence (as he calls it) he touches as 
tenderly as if he w r as afraid it would cut his fingers, though he 
well knew that in the wording of it, he had taken off its edge 
as much as he could: for if my consequence had been only, that 
their lamps will not burn without oil, it would not then have 
been so keen. He might then have replied, Whose will? Can 
any lamp burn without oil. No, sure. Every lamp must have 
oil ; but the oil should be suitable to the lamp ; an outward lamp 
should have outward oil, an inward lamp inward oil. Now, 
they pretending their ministry to be a spiritual lamp, a reli- 
gious lamp, (as the true ministry indeed is,) and is and can be 
nourished only by the spiritual heavenly oil of the divine eter- 
nal Word; and yet confessing tithes to be the oil that nourishes 



1682.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. . 261 

their ministerial lamp, and without which their lamp will not 
burn: thi? plainly shows their lamp is not spiritual, nor their 
ministry what they pretend. " 

By this we may judge [ex pede Herculem *) of the 
priests' performance, and T. Ellwood's answer, had he 
gone through and finished it; which yet, I hope, so 
far as he hath gone, may one time or other see the 
light, being well worth the perusal as it is ; and had he 
finished it, I am satisfied it would have been a very ser- 
viceable piece, no hand, in my judgment, being more 
capable of such a performance: but he had, as I said, 
some other services on his hands to divert him, of which 
no doubt one was his answer to William Rogers' great 
book aforesaid, entitled, "An Antidote against the In- 
fection of William Rogers' book, miscalled the Chris- 
tian Quaker," in five parts, containing about thirty 
sheets, and issued in the year 1682 ; in which he an- 
swered him chapter by chapter, and almost paragraph 
by paragraph, in relation to church government, and 
the good order of Truth established amongst us ; and 
also as to most of the principles of Truth, which the 
said William Rogers, in one part of his work, had en- 
deavoured to pervert to his own ends. A laborious 
w T ork it was, and difficult task to go through so evenly 
as he hath done ; and though it is controversy, yet 
pleasant to read. As also his " Caution to Constables 
and other inferior officers, concerning the execution of 
the Conventicle Act. With some observations there- 

* As of a giant by his toe. 



262 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683 

upon. Humbly offered, by way of advice to such 
well-meaning and moderate justices of the peace as 
would not willingly ruin their peaceable neighbours," 
which work is mentioned in his own account. 

And now to come to the time where he breaks off 
his own relation, and to carry it on, in some measure, 
though far short and inferior to what his own hand 
could have done. For it cannot be expected, that any 
one can write another man's life like himself, there 
being many passages, public and private, outward and 
inward, even as to the frame of his own mind and 
condition between God and his own soul, which, as no 
man knoweth the things of a man, save the spirit of 
a man which is in him, so none can relate but himself, 
or like himself: for as the wise man says, " The heart 
knoweth his own bitterness, and the stranger cannot 
intermeddle with his joy." But what occurs from my 
own knowledge, or from his books and papers, pertinent 
to the case in hand, shall faithfully be related. 

Therefore, to resume the thread of his discourse, 
and begin where he leaves off. He intimates at the 
close of his own account, that the magistrates not 
thinking the laws made against us, viz : the Conven- 
ticle Act, &c, severe enough, perverted the law, by 
making our peaceable meetings riots, and indicting 
our friends as rioters, that they might fine at pleasure, 
which he knew to be contrary to law and justice. Nor 
was it long, says he, before he had occasion offered 
^liore thoroughly to consider this matter, viz : the 
breaking up of the meeting near Woobourn, by Justice 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 263 

Hampson, sending Friends to prison, and indicting 
them for a riot. This shows he designed to write a 
book on that subject, though he doth not mention it ; 
and accordingly did this year, under this title, "A 
Discourse concerning Riots : occasioned by some of 
the people called Quakers being indicted for a Riot." 
Of which he gives, by way of preface, this further 
account : — 

" The proceedings of late in city and country, 
against some of the people called Quakers, for riots, 
for only meeting peaceably together to serve and 
worship God, first put me upon enquiring into the 
nature of riots : what upon enquiry I have found, I 
here present to public view for common benefit, that 
none through ignorance may be the occasion of bring- 
ing an unjust suffering upon an innocent people, and 
thereby guilt on themselves. I do not pretend much 
skill in law, a study and profession I w T as never bred 
to, but having spent some hours on this occasion, in 
searching what the law-books say in this case, I hope 
I may, without incurring the censure of presumption, 
communicate my gleaning to such of my well-meaning 
countrymen, as have not leisure or opportunity to 
inform themselves otherwise. I solemnly declare, I 
have no other end or aim in this work, than to do 
good, and prevent evil; which consideration, with 
men of candour and ingenuity, will be, I hope, a 
sufficient apology for my seeming boldness in this 
undertaking. " 

And so he proceeds to set forth what riots are in 



264 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 

the law and law-books, of which he cites divers, and 
Scripture too, to show that our peaceable meetings, 
which in those days they used to make riots, that they 
might imprison and fine us at pleasure, could not be 
riots ; though, through ignorance or envy, they were 
often so rendered, (which showed their injustice,) say- 
ing : — 

" How truly I have stated the case on the one hand, 
with respect to riots, the many quotations in the fore- 
going discourse will show. How true an account, on 
the other hand, I have given of our meetings, the 
whole nation, and all nations where we have meetings, 
may judge. Upon the whole, my request is, that all, 
both justices and jurors, who have or shall be concerned 
in this or the like case, will seriously weigh the matter, 
and not strain the law beyond its due extent. To 
oppress any by colour of law is the greatest abuse of 
law." 

He concludes with a serious recapitulation, and 
application of the whole, that none for the future 
might err ignorantly in that respect ; and if any would 
wilfully, they might be left without excuse. 

About the same time, or not long after, he wrote also 
a " Seasonable Dissuasive from Persecution, humbly 
and modestly, yet with Christian freedom and plainness 
of speech, offered to the consideration of all concerned 
therein; on behalf generally of all that suffer for 
conscience-sake, and particularly of the people called 
Quakers." In the beginning of this, he defines what 
persecution is : — 



1683.] . LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 265 

" Persecution is a word of so harsh a sound, and so generally 
distasteful to English ears, that scarce any of those who are 
most forward and active in that work, are willing to have their 
actions called by that name. That none therefore who have set 
an hand to that work, or whose minds are any whit inclined 
thereto, may, from the dislike they have to the word [Persecu- 
tion], reject this dissuasive as a thing wherein they are not 
concerned, I think it needful here to declare what it is I mean 
by persecution. By persecution then, I intend a forcing or 
compelling any, by pain or penalties, bodily or pecuniary, to 
relinquish or forsake that exercise of religion, or way of worship, 
which they believe to be the right way of worship, and the true 
and acceptable exercise of religion which God hath required of 
them. And to receive, embrace, conform to, and perform some 
other exercise of religion and way of worship, which they who 
are so compelled are either firmly persuaded is not the right, or 
at least have no belief that it is right. This, in short, is that 
which I call persecution ; and this is that which I dissuade from, 
whatever other name the actors of it may please themselves in 
calling it by." 

To begin with the first of these, viz : the forcing or 
compelling any to forsake and leave that exercise of 
religion, or way of worship, &c. The reasons by which 
he endeavours to dissuade all men from such an under- 
taking, are these, i. e. the heads of them: — 

First. You may, for aught you know, be found fighting 
against God. You are not, you cannot be, upon your own 
principles, infallibly sure, that that way of worship, which you 
thus endeavour to force us from, is not the true worship of God. 

Second. By endeavouring to force us from that way of 
worship, which we believe the Lord hath led us into, and 
requireth of us, you endeavour to force us to make shipwreck 
of faith. 

Third. In endeavouring by force and cruelty to restrain us 

23 



266 THE HISTORY OF THE [1683. 

from worshipping God, as we are fully persuaded He hath 
taught us, and doth require of us, you go out of the path of the 
righteous, and tread in the steps of the wicked and ungodly. 

Fourth. That exercise of religion which you would force us 
from, is not simply of itself condemned and disallowed by that 
law, by the severity of which you would force us from it. 

Fifth. In thus eagerly pursuing us and disturbing our peace- 
able meetings, you give yourselves, as well as us, a great deal 
of needless trouble. " Refrain from these men, and let them 
alone." 

Sixth and lastly. Be pleased to consider what sort of agents 
and instruments you are fain to make use of, and not seldom 
are yourselves made use of by, to carry on this work. Con- 
cluding this part, thus ; never give cause for this epitaph to 
be written on your tombs, " Here lies a persecutor of the people 
of God." 

Now for the other branch of persecution, viz: The 
forcing or compelling of any, by pain or penalties, to 
receive, embrace, conform to, and perform some exer- 
cises of religion, and way of worship, &c. The reasons 
by which he endeavours to dissuade all men from such 
an undertaking, are these, viz : the heads : — 

"First. In thus imposing your way of worship upon others, 
you act quite contrary to Christ and his Apostles. Second. In 
thus imposing your way of worship upon others, you follow the 
worst of patterns, Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, &c. 
Third. In forcing people to your way of worship, who have no 
belief that it is right, you cause them to sin, for whatsoever is 
not of faith is sin. Fourth. In forcing people to your way of 
worship, who have a firm persuasion and belief that it is not 
right, you make men hypocrites and time-servers. Fifth. By 
obtruding and forcing your religion upon others, you greatly 
disparage and undervalue it, and give men the more ground tc 



1683.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 267 

suspect and dislike it. Sixth. You break that great command 
which Christ says is the law and the prophets, viz : "All things 
whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so 
to them." 

All these reasons are illustrated and backed with 
Scripture and reason, concluding with a very close and 
seasonable application to our persecutors. A solid, 
serious discourse it is, if any arguments had been 
sufficient to dissuade men from persecution, of which 
there was very great about this time, particularly in 
London, Bristol, and divers other places. The w r hole 
is well worth perusal ; and I should have inclined to 
insert it at large, but that it hath pleased God to 
incline the hearts of our superiors to ease us in that 
respect, by granting a toleration to Protestant dissent- 
ers ; for which w T e are thankful. These three, viz : — 
Caution to Constables, Discourse of Riots, and Dis- 
suasives from Persecution, were all written, or at least 
printed, in this year, 1683. 

And he acquitted himself so well on these subjects, 
that one William Tour nay, to him unknown, sent him 
a letter from London, taking notice of the aforesaid 
tracts, which he was so well pleased with, that he 
desired his judgment on the 23rd, 29th, and 35th of 
Queen Elizabeth, in relation to the proceedings then 
upon them. To which our friend T. Ellwood returned 
him an answer in a large letter, which is in his decades 
of letters, among many others to clivers persons and 
on various subjects, well worthy the perusal, from the 
year 1670 down to his latter times; and if they w T ere 



OQg THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

publisned, would help to supply the deficiency of his 
own account of the latter part of his life. 

William Rogers, whom our author answered in the 
year 1682, as aforesaid, though he did not reply to it, 
or ever attempted it that I have heard of, put forth a 
rhyming scourge for George Whitehead, against whom 
he bent his most inveterate spleen, and who had also 
answered his great book, falsely called " The Christian 
Quaker," in a book entitled " The Accuser of the 
Brethren cast down." T. Ellwood wrote an answer to 
his scourge, in verse, entitled, " Roger o-Mastix, A 
Rod for William Rogers, in return for his Rhyming 
Scourge." For which he gives the following reason : — 

" To such as ask, why I in verse have writ? 
This answer I return ; I held it fit 
Yerse should in verse be answered, prose in prose, 
My adversary his own weapon chose. 
He chose before in prose to write, and then 
I answer'd him in prose. So now again, 
Since he his style from prose to verse hath chang'd, 
And in the Muses' walks hath boldly ranged, 
In his own method him I chose to treat, 
Lest he should wise be in his own conceit." 

In the second month, 1686, he had a concern upon 
his spirit, in a deep sense of the Enemy's working to 
sow divisions, and endeavouring to lay waste the tes- 
timony of Truth, to write an epistle to Friends ; which 
he did very solidly and weightily, to stir up Friends to 
faithfulness, and to beware of the Enemy's wiles, and 
avoid that rending, dividing spirit, which was then at 
work to cause division and strife among Friends. This 



1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 269 

being so seasonable and excellent, both for matter and 
style, it is thought meet to be here inserted. 

AN EPISTLE TO FRIENDS. 

" Dear Friends, unto whom the gathering arm of the Lord 
hath reached, and who have known, in your several measures, a 
being gathered thereby into the heavenly life, and are witnesses 
of the preserving power, by which you have been kept faithful 
to the Lord, and regardful of his honour : unto you in an espe- 
cial manner is the salutation of my true and tender love in the 
Lord ; and for you, as for myself, are the breathings and fervent 
desires of my soul offered up, in the one Spirit, unto him who 
is your God and mine, that both you and I may be for ever kept 
in the fresh sense of his tender mercies and great loving-kind- 
ness unto us, that therein our souls may cleave firmly unto him, 
and never depart from him. For, Friends, it is a trying day, a 
day of great difficulty and danger, wherein the Enemy is at 
w6rk, and very busy, setting his snares on every side, and 
spreading his temptations on every hand ; and some, alas ! have 
entered thereinto, and are caught and held therein, for whom 
my soul in secret mourns. 

"And truly, Friends, a great weight hath been upon my spirit 
for many days, and my mind hath been deeply exercised, in the 
sense I have of the Enemy's prevailing, by one bait or other, 
to unsettle the minds of some, unto whom the arm of the Lord 
had reached, and in some measure gathered to a resting-place; 
but not abiding in that pure Light, by which they were at first 
visited, and to which they were at first turned, the understand- 
ing hath been veiled again ; the eye, which was once in some 
measure opened, hath the god of this world insensibly blinded 
again, and darkness is come over them, to that degree, that they 
can now contentedly take up again what in the day of their con- 
vincement, and in the time of their true tenderness, they cast 
off as a burden too heavy to be borne. my Friends ! this hath 
been the Enemy's work ; therefore it greatly behooves all to 

23* 



270 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

watch against him : for it hath been for want of watchfulness, 
that he hath got entrance into any. For, when the mind had 
been from off the true watch, in a secure and careless state, 
then hath he secretly wrought, and presented his fair baits, his 
allurements or enticements, by pleasure or profit to catch the 
unwary mind. And hence it hath come to pass, that some, who 
have come out fairly, and begun well, and have seemed in good 
earnest to set their hands to God's plough, have looked back, and 
been weary of the yoke of Christ, and have either lusted after 
the flesh-pots of Egypt again, or turned aside into some by-path 
or crooked way, in the wilderness, and thereby fallen short of 
the promised good land. " 

"But you, my dear Friends, in whom the word of life abides, 
and who abide in the virtue and savour thereof, ye know the 
wiles of the Enemy, and the power which subdues him, and the 
Rock in which the preservation and safety is. So that I write 
not these things unto you, because ye know them not; but the 
end of my thus writing is, to stir up the pure mind in all upon 
whom the name of the Lord is called, that we all may be pro- 
voked to watchfulness against the workings of the wicked one. 
Therefore, dear Friends, bear, I beseech you, the word of exhor- 
tation, though from one that is little and low, and through mercy 
sensible of it, and who hath not been accustomed to appear after 
this manner ; for the wind, ye know, bloweth where it listeth. 

"Friends, call to mind the former times, and remember the 
days that are past and gone, when the day of the Lord first 
dawned unto you, and his power seized upon you. Ye know 
how weighty and retired the spirits of Friends then were; how 
grave and solid their deportment and carriage ; how few and 
savoury their words, tending to edify the hearers ; how great a 
fear and backwardness was in them, to enter into familiarity 
with the world's people. Friends! that was a good day, and 
that was a safe state ; for fear begets watchfulness, and watch- 
fulness is a means to prevent danger. Therefore, all Friends, 
keep in the holy fear, and therein watch against the Enemy, 
that he entangle you not, nor hurt your spirits by a t,oo near 



1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 271 

familiarity, and intimate conversing with the people of the 
-world ; for therein, I assure you, lies a snare. 

" For though it be both lawful and necessary, and in some 
cases also useful and serviceable to the Truth, to converse with 
them that are without ; yet if any Friend should adventure in a 
frank and free mind, beyond the limits of the pure fear, to en- 
tertain familiarity with the world's people, the spirit of the 
world in them will seek an entrance ; and, if not diligently 
watched against, will also get an entrance, and bring a hurt and 
a loss upon him or them into whom it so gets. For, being once 
entered, it will insensibly work, and dispose the mind to a con- 
descension to and compliance with 4he people of the world it 
converses with, first in one thing, then in another ; in words, in 
behaviour, &c, little things in appearance, but great in conse- 
quence, till at length an indifferency gets up in the mind, and 
the testimony of Truth by degrees is let fall. But while the 
pure fear is kept to and dwelt in, the watch is always set, the 
spirit is retired and weighty, and a holy awfulness rests upon 
the mind, which renders such converse both safe to the Friends, 
and more serviceable to them they converse withal. 

" And, Friends, not only in your conversing with the world's 
people, but in all your conversation and course of life, watch 
against the spirit of the world , for it lies near to tempt, and to 
draw out the mind, and to lead back into the world again. You 
know, Friends, that at the first, when the visiting arm of the 
Lord reached to us, he led us out of the world's ways, manners, 
customs, and fashions : and a close testimony, both in word and 
practice, was borne against them. But how hath this testimony 
been kept up, and kept to, by all who have since made profession 
of the Truth! Ah! how hath the Enemy, for want of watch- 
fulness, s*)len in upon too many, and led out their minds from 
that which did at first convince them, into a liberty beyond the 
Cross of Jesus Christ! and in that liberty they have run into 
the world's fashions, which the worldly spirit continually invents 
to feed the vain and airy minds withal, that they may not come 
to gravity and solidity. 



272 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

" Thence it hath come to pass, that there is scarcely a new 
fashion come up, or a fantastic cut invented, but some one or 
other, that professes Truth, is ready with the foremost to run 
into it. Ah, Friends ! the -world sees this, and smiles, and points 
the finger at it. And this is both a hurt to the particular, and a 
reproach to the general. Therefore oh ! let the lot be cast ; let 
search be made by every one, and let every one examine him- 
self, that this Achan, with his Babylonish garment, may be 
found and cast out ; for indeed he is a troubler of Israel. 

u And all Friends, who upon true search shall find yourselves 
concerned in this particular, I warn and exhort you all, return 
to that which at first convinced you; to that keep close, in that 
abide, that therein ye may know, as at the first, not only a bridle 
to the tongue, but a curb to the roving mind, a restraint to the 
wandering desire. For assuredly, Friends, if Truth be kept to, 
none will need to learn of the world what to wear, what to put 
on, or how to shape and fashion their garments; but Truth will 
teach all how best to answer the end of clothing, both for useful 
service and modest decency. And the Cross of Christ will be a 
yoke to the unruly will, and a restraint upon the wanton mind ; 
and will crucify that nature that delights in finery and in bravery 
of apparel, in which the true adorning doth not stand, but in 
the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, 
even a meek and quiet spirit. 

" And the grace of God, which hath appeared to all, and which 
hath brought salvation to many, will not only teach to deny all 
ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, 
and godly in this present world, but will also lead those that 
obey it, out of all excess, and out of all superfluities and worldly 
vanities ; and will teach them to order their conversation aright. 
Therefore, to this heavenly grace let every mind be turned, and 
therein stayed; that thereby all who profess the Truth may be 
kept in the holy limits of it ; that in their whole conversation 
and course of life — in eating, in drinking, in putting on appa- 
rel, and in whatsoever else we do or take in hand, all may be 



1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 273 

done to the glory of God, that our moderation in all things may 
appear unto all men. 

"And let not any deceive and hurt themselves with a false 
plea, saying, ' I will be left to my liberty ; I have freedom to do, 
go, or wear so and so ; and religion stands not in clothes/ &c, 
for that liberty which the worldly spirit leads into, is not indeed 
the true liberty, but is a false and feigned liberty, which leads 
into true and real bondage. And though religion stands not 
simply in clothes; yet true religion stands in that which sets a 
bound and limit to the mind with respect to clothes, as well as 
to other things. So that where there is a running out into ex- 
cess and vanity in apparel, that is a certain indication and token 
that the mind is got loose, and hath cast off the yoke, and is 
broken away from its due subjection to that divine power, in 
which the true religion stands. 

"Great hath been the hurt which the Enemy hath done in 
this day, by leading into a false freedom, and crying up a wrong 
liberty; for under this pretence have crept in great disorders, 
some running out one way, and some another; some mixing in 
marriages with the world's people, and some going to the priest 
to be married. And many loose and unclean spirits have 
shrouded themselves under this plausible pretence of being left 
to their liberty, unto whom Truth's order is irksome and uneasy; 
and they kick against it, and call it imposition, because it checks 
their licentious liberty. 

" Therefore all, who join with their plea, examine and try what 
liberty it is ye claim and stand for ; for the true liberty is not 
inconsistent with the Cross of Christ, nor repugnant to his yoke, 
but agrees with it, and is obtained through it, and maintained 
by it. And none whom the Son hath made free indeed, will or 
can plead, or make use of that liberty, in opposition to any 
means which the God of order hath appointed or set up in his 
church, for keeping out confusion, disorder, and looseness. And 
hereby all may take a right measure, and may certainly know 
what kind of liberty that is, which some have so hotly contended 
for, in opposition to that necessary and commendable order 



274 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

which God hath led his people into, and which the Enemy, in his 
agents, labours so hard to lead them oat of: for the Enemy well 
knows, that the tendency and service thereof is to detect and 
discover his secret workings, and to bring his deeds to light and 
judgment; and therefore he strives with might and main to 
overturn it, crying out through his instruments, 'Away with 
your order, let every one be left to his liberty ;' by which seem- 
ingly fair and specious plea, not only the loose, disorderly, fac- 
tious spirits have been let up, and encouraged to greater bold- 
ness and licentiousness; but some simple and well-meaning 
Friends also, not seeing the design of Satan therein, have been 
misled thereby, and made use of by the Enemy, and the more 
subtle of his instruments, to oppose the good order of Truth. 

" Thus hath the Enemy wrought, and sought to lay waste the 
work of the Lord. But the Lord, magnified be his holy name, 
hath not been wanting to his people, who in sincerity of heart 
have diligently waited on Him, and trusted in him; for he hath 
all along raised up some, whose eyes he hath opened, to see the 
design and working of the evil one, and whose spirits he hath 
engaged to stand up in a faithful testimony against him, contend* 
ing for the way of Truth. Which when they, in whom the 
Enemy wrought, perceived, and found they could not run over 
the heads of Friends, and carry things on as themselves pleased, 
they set themselves in a heady, wilful spirit, to raise disturb- 
ances in meetings for business, by encouraging and abetting 
such heady, loose, contentious, and disorderly persons, as would 
join with them; thus hardening themselves, and provoking the 
Lord to give them up to blindness and hardness of heart, till at 
length the Enemy prevailed so far upon them, as to work them, 
by degrees, from discontent to prejudice, then to enmity, and so 
at length, in divers places, to an open defection, apostacy, and 
separation. 

" Now, although I know, my dear Friends, that ye who have 
kept 3 7 our habitation in the Light of the Lord, and whose eye is 
single therein, have a clear sight and understanding, that the 
spirit which hath thus wrought and fought against the Truth, is 



1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 275 

not, nor can be of God, but is of the wicked one ; and although 
the fruits it hath brought forth, through the agents and instru- 
ments in and by which it hath wrought, in making disturbances 
in meetings, to the breaking the church's peace, causing divisions 
among Friends, publishing to the world most wicked, malicious, 
railing, and scandalous books against Friends, (an effect of the 
greatest enmity,) shutting and keeping Friends out of their com- 
mon meeting-houses, in which they have a just right and pro- 
perty, and not suffering them to meet therein, (which is a part 
of the persecution inflicted on Friends by the world,) and at 
length also setting up separate meetings, in opposition to the 
meetings of God's people ; — although, I say, these fruits are suf- 
ficient of themselves to discover and manifest, to an unclouded 
mind, what spirit that is and must needs be, which hath brought 
them forth ; yet inasmuch as some, partly through weakness of 
judgment, and partly through personal affection to some of those 
leading separatists, are yet in danger to be betrayed by their fair 
words and feigned speeches, wherewith they lie in wait to de- 
ceive ; I feel a concern remain upon my spirit, in the love of 
God, to warn all such, that they join not with, nor give counte- 
nance unto that spirit, that hath thus wrought against the Lord, 
and against his people. 

" For, Friends, in the holy fear of the living God, and in the 
openings of the spring of his pure life in my soul at this time, 
and from the certain knowledge and clear demonstration which 
I have received from him therein, I testify and declare unto you, 
that this spirit, which in this day hath run out, and hath drawn 
out some into opposition against the way and work of the Lord, 
into division and separation from the people of the Lord, and 
from the holy assemblies which the Lord hath gathered, and by 
his powerful presence hath owned, and daily doth own ; — this 
spirit, I say, is the same with that which formerly wrought in 
other appearances, against the Truth, in our time; and is the 
same with that spirit, which wrought against the work of the 
Lord in the days of the holy apostles. This mystery of iniquity 
then wrought, and caused many to turn aside, and to leave the 



276 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

right way of the Lord, and to forsake the assemblies of God's 
people, yea, and to run into separation too ; upon whom the Holy 
Ghost hath sent this brand, that they were sensual, having not 
the Spirit. And many close and sharp testimonies did the Lord 
give forth through his servants, in that day, against this spirit, 
and against those that were joined to it, and acted by it, as may 
be seen in the Holy Scriptures. 

"Yea, Friends, this spirit that hath led some now to set up 
their separate meetings is the same that led Jeroboam, the son 
of Nebat, to set up his separate altar at Bethel, of which you 
may read, 1 Kings, 12th and 13th chapters. He was afraid, 
that if the people should continue to go up to the house of the 
Lord, to do sacrifice there, as they had been accustomed to do, 
and as the Lord had required, they would then forsake him, and 
return to the Lord again. 

"And this Spirit now is afraid that if they whom he hath 
seduced and drawn aside, should still frequent the assemblies of 
God's people, and continue to meet with Friends as before, that 
heavenly power which is evidently manifest in the meetings of 
God's people, might at one time or other reach unto them, touch 
their hearts, open the right eye in them, and give them to see 
the mischief and misery he is leading them into. And there- 
fore to prevent this, and to keep his captives close unto him, he 
hath contrived to set up separate meetings, in opposition to the 
meetings of God's appointment, as Jeroboam set up his separate 
altar, in opposition to the altar which God hath commanded to 
be set up ; and to keep the people from going thereto. And so 
subtilly did this spirit work then as well as now, that Jeroboam 
contrived to have his false worship bear some resemblance to 
the true, that he might the more easily beguile the people ; for 
he ordained a feast like unto the feast that was in Judah. But 
it was in the month which he had devised of his own heart. 
Mark that, there is a blot upon it; how fair or specious soever 
the worship he set up appeared or seemed to be, yet it was but 
the device of his own heart ; it was neither appointed by God, 
nor accepted of God. For you may read in the 13th chapter, 



1686.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 277 

that the Lord sent a prophet, a man of God, out of Judah to 
Bethel, and he cried against the altar in the word of the Lora, 
and prophesied the destruction thereof by Josiah ; which was 
afterwards outwardly fulfilled, as you may read. Now Josiah 
signifies the fire or burning of the Lord. And in the holy dread 
of the living eternal God, I declare the fire of the Lord is 
kindled and kindling against this accursed separating spirit, 
and against its work, and against all those that join with it 
therein. Therefore, all fear before the mighty God, and stand 
still and consider your ways ; and let none resist or reject the 
warning of the Lord, lest such be hardened to destruction. For 
Jeroboam, you may read, stood by his separate altar. And 
when he heard the saying of the man of God, which he cried 
against the altar in Bethel, he put forth his hand, saying, Lay- 
hold on him. But his hand which he put forth against him, 
dried up, so that he could not pull it in again to him. 

"0 Friends! consider, how hath dryness and withering 
come upon many a great and stout one in this day, who have 
lifted up themselves against the Lord, and have sought, by the 
devices of their own hearts, to establish themselves, in their own 
way, against the way of the Lord, so that the hand they have 
put forth in that work, they could not pull in again. 

" Now mind, I pray you, Friends, and observe the way of 
the working of this Spirit in that day. Here was the enmity, 
the rough nature of Cain and Esau, the spirit of persecution 
got up first in Jeroboam to dismay the man of God; Lay hold 
of him, said he ; but when he saw that would not do, then the 
subtle serpent, the crafty fox, the fair speeches, the smooth 
words, the seeming friendship, and show of kindness, to betray 
him. Come home with me, said he to the man of God, and 
refresh thyself, and I will give thee a reward. 

" Friends ! stand in the fear and counsel of the Lord, and 
in the dominion of his power, over this wicked spirit in all its 
twistin^s and twinings. Let neither the frowns nor the fawn- 
ings, the threats nor the flatteries, the hard speeches, nor the 
oily words, the pharisaical friendship, the dissembling love, the 

24 



278 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

seeming kindness, the familiar carriage, the free entertainment, 
the offer of advantage, &c, have any influence upon you, to 
draw you in the least measure to join or touch with God's 
enemy ; with him that sets up a separate altar, a separate meet- 
ing in opposition to, and to draw or keep from, the right way 
of the Lord. Mind well the answer which the man of God gave 
to Jeroboam's tempting invitation ; * If/ said he, ' thou wilt give 
me half thine house, I will not go in with thee ; neither will I 
eat bread, nor drink water in this place/ This was where the 
separate altar was set up. 

"And he gives a forcible reason for it; for so it was charged 
me by the word of the Lord. Here now, you see both the 
charge of the Lord, and the good resolution of the man of God; 
I will not go in with thee, who hast revolted from God, neither 
•will I eat or drink in this place, where an ensign of separation 
and opposition to the way of God is set up. Consider this well, 
I warn you all, in whom there is yet any true breathings after 
the living God, who retain any tenderness, and in whom there 
is any simplicity left, consider this well when thy pretended 
friend or friends, in a great deal of seeming love and kindness, 
shall invite thee to partake with them at their separate altar, 
to sit down with them in their separate meeting. Thou canst 
not be a man of God, and go in with them or eat or drink in 
that place. Thou canst not sit down there to wait for the 
bread of life, or the water of life to be given thee there ; no, 
the word of the Lord, if thou givest heed unto it, will charge 
thee otherwise. Therefore, to that pure living word, let every 
mind be turned, and thereto kept in a diligent waiting to 
receive wisdom, strength, and power from the Lord therein, 
that none may be betrayed by the subtilty of the enemy, with 
whatsoever fair pretences he may come. For remember how 
the man of God, that was enticed by another to eat and drink 
outwardly at Bethel, the place where the separate altar was 
set up, lost his outward life therefor. And if thou shalt pre- 
sume to go in to eat or to drink spiritually, that is, to join in 
worship with the sons of Nebat at this day, in the separate 



16S61 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 279 

meetings which any of them have set up in opposition to the 
assemblies of God's people, and to the blessed way and work 
of the Lord, how knowest thou, but thou may'st forever lose 
thy spiritual life, and never know a day of quickening more? 

" Therefore, all Friends, watch against every temptation there- 
unto, as you love your lives, as you regard the good and eternal 
welfare of your souls; and let not the name or person of any 
man have power over you, to draw you aside, neither let 
numbers sway with you : in which, I know, these adversaries 
of Truth do not a little boast, though, blessed be God, with 
little reason ; but remember that Jeroboam of old had ten tribes 
out of twelve, to cry up his separate altar, notwithstanding 
which, he is branded to posterity in the holy record with this 
brand, * Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin/ 
Therefore, let not any follow a multitude to do evil. (Exodus, 
xxiii. 2.) But all follow that which is good, both among your- 
selves, and to all men. (1 Thess. v. 15.) For, Friends, you 
know whither the broad way leads, and what it is the wide gate 
opens into, which the many go in at; but keep ye to the strait 
gate, and walk ye on in the narrow way, for in it is safety, and 
at the end of it everlasting happiness. 

" But, Friends, because of the straitness of this gate, and the 
narrowness of this way, some that have attempted to walk in it, 
are grown weary of it, and have sought out another way, which, 
Jeroboam-like, they have devised, of their own hearts, wherein 
they may have more room, more scope, more company, ease in 
the flesh, liberty to the flesh, and all without control. And this, 
I am satisfied, hath not been the least motive to the separation 
in this day, as it was the greatest in days past ; though some, 
that have been drawn into it, may not perhaps see the ground 
upon which it was undertaken. But the Lord hath opened an 
eye in many, which sees the rise and ground, entrance and end, 
of this libertine spirit and its work. And this eye will the Lord 
daily open more and more, in all that diligently and in sincerity 
wait upon him. 

" Therefore, all Friends everywhere, who have not yet a clear 



280 THE HISTORY OF THE [1686. 

sight, and a thorough understanding of the nature and work, 
design and drift of this dividing spirit, wait, I beseech you, in 
simplicity of heart and lowliness of mind, upon the Lord, and 
keep to the measure of the grace you have received from him ; 
and suffer not your minds to be swayed or biassed by any 
personal kindness, natural affection, relation, kindred, or ac- 
quaintance, but stand single and open to the Lord, not joining 
to, nor any way countenancing that which the testimony of 
Truth, in the arisings of the heavenly life, and breakings forth 
of the divine power through any, goes forth against. So will 
your present standing be safe, and you be preserved out of the 
snares of this insinuating and treacherous spirit; and the Lord, 
in his appointed time, as ye abide with him, will open your 
understandings further, and give you a clearer sight of that, 
which, at preeent, you do not fully see, and thereby bring you 
to that certainty and assurance, which, blessed be his name, he 
hath brought many unto. 

"And you, my dear Friends, whose spirits the Lord hath 
stirred up, and whose hearts he hath engaged in a holy zeal, to 
stand up for his blessed Name and Truth, and to bear a faith- 
ful testimony against this wicked rending spirit, go on in the 
strength and power of the Lord, in the might of the God of 
Jacob ; for you are assuredly on the Lord's side, and the Lord 
Jehovah, the strength of Israel, is on your side. Therefore, 
Friends, be encouraged in the Lord, to stand steadfast in your 
testimony, not giving w r ay to the Enemy, no/hot for a moment. 
And take heed, I beseech you, in the love of God, how ye enter 
into an}' treaty of peace or terms of agreement with this ungodly, 
treacherous spirit, which is out of the Truth, and draws out of 
the Truth, and fights against the Truth; for there is no peace 
unto it, saith my God. 

"And they who have joined themselves unto it, and have 
wickedly given themselves up to be acted by it, and to act for 
it, must pass through the river of judgment, if ever they be 
redeemed from under its power. Friends, condemnation must 
first be felt and owned, before reconciliation can be known ; and 



1688.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 281 

the fire of the Lord must pass upon the transgressor, to consume 
the works of darkness, the ungodly deeds, the envious, reviling 
speeches, the wicked, malicious, slanderous books and pamph- 
lets, &c, and to burn up the ground from whence they sprang. 
For a flaming sword hath the Lord God set in his Eden, which 
turneth every wa} 7 ; and none that are gone out can ever come 
in again, but they must pass under the flaming edge thereof. 
Therefore, my dear Friends, stand your ground in the authority 
of the heavenly life, and tamper not with God's enemies. Re- 
member the word of the Lord to the prophet : ' Let them return 
unto thee, but return not thou unto them/ And then what 
follows? 'I will make thee unto this people a fenced brazen 
wall, and they shall fight against thee, but they shall not prevail 
against thee ; for I am with thee, to save thee, and to deliver 
thee/ saith the Lord. 

" So the God of life fill your hearts daily more and more with 
a Phineas' zeal for the honour of his name, and furnish you 
abundantly with wisdom and council, with boldness and courage, 
with strength and power, to encounter and overcome the Enemy; 
and make every one more watchful against the spirit of the 
world, to withstand it in all its allurements to vanity, of what- 
soever kind ; that whatsoever would defile the camp of the Lord 
may be purged out, and kept out, that the Lord may more and 
more delight in his people, and shower down his blessings upon 
them. Which is the fervent desire of your faithful friend in 
the love and service of the unchangeable Truth, 

Thomas Ellwood." 

The 24th of the Second 
month, 1686. 

After this I do not find he writ anything, except 
some private letters in his Decades, but lived retired 
till the year 1688. In which time of privacy, as fittest 
for it, he began a work, which he did not finish till 
many years after, and that was the life of David, king 
24* 



282 THE HISTORY OF THE [1690 

of Israel, in verse ; which he began for his own 
diversion, not thinking then of printing it, and carried 
it on to the end of the third book. But then the 
Prince of Orange landing, and the Revolution follow- 
ing, the nation being in arms against King James, the 
noise of guns, and sound of drums, &c, so disturbed 
his meditation and gentle muse, that his poetical genius 
left him for a time, and he thereupon left his work for 
above twenty years ; of which more hereafter in its place. 

And here he retired again for two years ; so that I 
find nothing to remark of him, either public or private, 
but some private letters, till the year 1690 ; when John 
Raunce and Charles Harris, of Wycombe, in that 
county, publishing " A Memorial, " as they called it, 
" for the present generation, and also for that which is 
to come, being an Account from Wycombe concerning 
the Difference;" &c, this Thomas Ellwood answered in 
a book entitled, " The Account from Wycombe lately 
published by John Raunce and Charles Harris, ex- 
amined, and found false. And a Warning thereof 
given, to all such well-meaning persons among the 
people called Quakers, as through personal Affection, 
Want of Consideration, or Weakness of Judgment, 
have been betrayed, or may be in Danger to be be- 
trayed by them, or any other in the same dividing 
Spirit with them ; and led aside from the Way of 
Truth, into a Separation from the people of God : for 
whose Recovery and Preservation this is written." 
Which begins thus : — - 

" For your sakes it is, ye much pitied ones, more 



1691.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 283 

than for any weight in the account itself, or worth in 
the authors of it, that I have thus taken notice of it. 
For indeed as soon as I had perused it, I felt a com- 
passionate concern spring in my heart on your behalf s, 
and a direction in spirit to open some passages therein, 
and relating thereto, to you, that ye might be pre- 
served from being taken, or if in any measure taken, 
might be rescued and delivered from the snare, which 
the enemy of your souls and of all righteousness, hath 
made use of these men to set, to entangle, entrap and 
catch you by. And to the true witness of the holy 
God in every one of your consciences, who retain any 
honest breathings after the Lord and the way of holi- 
ness, do I recommend this my undertaking, and the sin- 
cerity of my intention therein." 

Wherein he discovered their deceit, as to their sepa- 
ration ; and that it was not for conscience, but from a 
libertine spirit, to lay waste the good order in the 
church, as their actions manifested ; of which he gave 
some instances, not to their advantage. But their 
works have made them manifest. 

The next book he published was in 1691, viz., " A 
Reply to an Answer, lately published, to a Book long 
since written by W. Penn, entitled, 'a brief Examina- 
tion and State of Liberty spiritual ; both with respect 
to Persons in their private Capacity, and in their 
Church Society and Conversation." Which book was 
written, or at least published by W. Penn, in the year 
1681, to distinguish between true and false liberty, 
little understood by some, and too frequently abused 



284 THE HISTORY OF THE [1691. 

by others : " Liberty from Sin, not to sin ; to do his 
(God's) Will, and not our own ;" as W. Penn expresses it. 

Which true spiritual liberty being abused by some in 
the profession of the Truth, as our friend Thomas Ell- 
wood observes in his preface ; who under the pretence 
of being left to that liberty in themselves, and to their 
own freedom therein, both took liberty to do such 
things as were inconsistent with that true liberty, and 
with the principle of Truth which they professed, and 
despising those useful, good and necessary helps and 
means, which the Lord hath provided and furnished 
his church and people with, for the preventing and 
keeping out such disorders, evils and scandals, as the 
unruly nature of man, through such a mistake of true 
liberty, might and would bring in, did reject the coun- 
sel, admonition or reproof of their brethren, with, 
W T hat hast thou to do with me? leave me to my own 
freedom. To reclaim, if it might be, those wdio are 
thus deceived, and prevent others from being so, the 
author being pressed in spirit for Zion's sake, and for 
the peace of Jerusalem ; and having a deep sense, as 
himself expresses, of the workings of the enemy of 
Zion's peace, to rend and divide the heritage of God, 
did write the fore-mentioned treatise, for the establish- 
ment of the faithful, information of the simple-hearted, 
and reproof of the arrogant and high-minded. 

Which striking at the false liberty and pretences of 
the separate party, it seems it had lain on their sto- 
machs undigested these ten years : and then came forth 
an answer to it by J. H. supposed to be John Hogg, 



1691.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 285 

one of the separates about Hull. This answer our 
friend T. Ellwood undertakes, and replies to in a pretty 
large book; in which he shows what is meant by true 
spiritual liberty, in W. Penn's own definition, which he 
defends ; shows their abuse of it, answers their argu- 
ments, or rather cavils against it, in behalf of their 
false libertine spirit and practices, which too many ran 
into, to their own hurt, and separation from the church, 
the body of Christ, whereof he is head. Saying in the 
preface, u The God of truth knows, I have no other end 
in this reply, than to defend truth and the children of 
it, against the slanderous suggestions, false charges, and 
wicked insinuations of the adversaries ; to lay open their 
deceitful dealing, and to remove, as the Lord shall en- 
able me, the stumbling-blocks which they have laid in the 
way of the weak, whereby they have caused some to fall 
into misapprehensions and hard thoughts of Friends 
without cause. And I beseech the God of mercy to 
open the understandings and clear the sight of all those, 
whose simplicity has been betrayed by the others' sub- 
tilty, that they may see and escape the enemy's snares, 
and return to the true fold, from which they have been 
led astray." To this work I never heard of any re- 
joinder; only some private letters passed between J. 
Hogg and T. Ellwood about some passages in it. 

His next were, first, in 1692, " Thomas Ellwood's 
answer to so much of Leonard Key's late printed sheet 
as relates to him." Which paper of Leonard Key's 
was intended mostly to excuse their shutting Friends 
out of their meeting-house at Reading. The second, 



286 THE HISTORY OF THE [1693. 

in 1693, was " Deceit discovered, and Malice mani- 
fested in Leonard Key's late paper from Reading." 

The next and last book he wrote in relation to this 
controversy with the Separates, was " A fair examina- 
tion of a foul Paper called Observations and Reflec- 
tions, &c, lately published by John Raunee and 
Leonard Key," who after their separate bickerings, 
come now to join their forces together in this paper, 
which seems to be reflections on Thomas Ellwood's last 
mentioned paper. * * * * So he goes on to answer 
their cavils, confirming by certificate his former charge 
of their scandalous practice at Wycombe, then answers 
their new slander (the old proving false,) that he suf- 
fered his father to want ; raking into his ashes when 
he had been dead above ten years, to cast something 
at his son (so restless is envy,) as if he had been short 
in his duty to his father, which T. Ellwood fairly and 
clearly wipes off, vindicating himself as to his not being 
at his father's burial, which John Raunee throws at 
him, though Thomas in his last had fairly related the 
occasion; which was his sister's illness at London, 
though she recovered ; and w T hich one would think 
might have satisfied any one, not overgrown with 
envy, &c, &c, &c. 

Here ends his controversy with the Separates; in 
which I must needs say, he acquitted himself as an 
ingenuous man, a Christian, and a fair opponent. 

Our dear friend George Fox dying in the eleventh 
month, 1690, and leaving behind him an excellent 
Journal of his travels and sufferings, our friend T. 



1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 987 

Ellwood (as nobody fitter) about this time was at the 
pains of transcribing it, and fitting it for the press; 
(a laborious work.) It was printed next year in a large 
folio; and to it T. Ellwood prefixed a notable account 
concerning him, which is the only single testimony 
printed with it, except that of his wife, M. Fox, and 
an excellent preface by W. Penn. 

But now a new scene opens. For George Keith, 
who had known better things than most opposers that 
ever rose up against Truth and Friends, having been a 
Quaker, and a preacher among them near thirty years, 
and bad written many books in vindication of Truth 
and Friends ; but now falling out, and differing with 
some of his brethren in Pennsylvania, whither he went 
some years before, because he could not have his own 
way in everything, came over with some of his party, 
full fraught with contention, against the Yearly Meet- 
ing in 1694. This, difference came before the meeting 
by some letters from beyond sea, which were read in 
course in the meeting, whereupon G. Keith desired to 
be heard. After the other business of the meeting was 
over, Friends condescended, for several days, to hear 
him and his party, and Samuel Jennings, &c, on the 
other side, in hopes to have reconciled the difference 
before it w T ent any further ; but as the prophet said, 
"When I would have healed Israel, then the iniquity 
of Ephraim w T as discovered," &c.,* so, the more en- 
deavours were used to reconcile him to his brethren, 
the more his deceit appeared; and the more tenderness 

* Hosea vii. 1. 



288 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694 

any showed towards him, the more perverse he was in 
turning it to a wrong use, and strengthening himself in 
his opposition. There was no holding what would 
away, as the proverb is ; resolved he was for a breach, 
by opposing Friends more and more, till he ran him- 
self quite out from among them. Which our friend 
T. Ellwood observing the bent and tendency of, not 
only in the Yearly Meeting, but after ; and how he en- 
deavoured to make divisions among Friends, to divide 
the heritage of God, he took up his pen again, and 
writ an excellent Epistle to Friends ; briefly comme- 
morating the gracious dealings of the Lord with them, 
and warning them to beware of that spirit of conten- 
tion and division which hath appeared of late in George 
Keith and some others, which he addressed to Friends 
thus : — 

" Dear Friends, whom the Lord hath called with an holy call- 
ing, and who, through faithfulness to the heavenly call, are 
become the chosen of the Lord : It is in my heart, in the open- 
ings of the love of God, to send these few lines among you, as 
a salutation of true and hearty love unto you ; and in the ten- 
dering sense of the Lord's unspeakable goodness unto us, which 
at this time rests with an affecting weight upon my spirit, briefly 
to commemorate the gracious dealings of the Lord with us since 
we have been a people." 

Which he commemorated as follows: — 

"Great and manifold have been the mercies of our God unto 
this people, in this his day, and his loving kindnesses are beyond 
expressing; when we were young and little, his fatherly care 
was over us, he preserved us and nourished us, and caused us 
to grow up before him. How did he carry his Limbs in his 
bosom, when the beasts of prey roared on every side, seeking 



1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 280 

to devour ! Who can rehearse the many deliverances he hath 
wrought for his people, in their passage from Spiritual Egypt? 
How hath he girded their loins with strength, and covered their 
heads in the day of battle ! How hath he subdued their enemies 
before them, and put to flight the armies of aliens! How hath 
he fed them with bread from heaven, and made them to suck honey 
out of the rock ! Yea, he hath caused the rock to give forth water 
abundantly, and hath been to his people as a brook in the way, 
and the shadow of a mighty rock in a weary land. So that from a 
sensible experience, we can say to his praise, our bread hath been 
sure, and our water hath not failed, as we have singh' relied on him. 
Oh ! his goodness is unutterable, and his faithfulness hath never 
failed them that have trusted in him ; when have we ever been 
in prison for his sake, and he hath not visited us and comforted 
us there? What sufferings have any undergone on his account, 
and he hath not abundantly recompensed the loss? Nay, hath 
he not often stopped the mouths of lions, and reproved rulers 
for the sake of his people ; saying, Touch not mine anointed, 
and do my prophets no harm. In all our exercises he hath been 
with us, and he hath stood by us in our sorest trials; yea, he 
hath caused his angel to camp round about us, so that no weapon 
formed against us hath prospered, but every tongue that hath 
risen up against us, the Lord hath given us power to condemn ; 
blessed be his holy name, and exalted and magnified be his glo- 
rious power forever. 

" These things and much more than I can write, I doubt not, 
but ye, my dear Friends, are witnesses of; ye especially my 
elder brethren, who were called early in the morning of this 
day, and have stood faithful in your testimony for God until 
now, who from your own both early and late experiences can 
set your seals to the truth thereof; and unto you I do believe 
this brief commemoration of the goodness and loving kindness 
of the Lord to his people, will be. pleasing and delightful, as I 
hope it may prove useful and profitable unto us all, in stirring 
up of the pure mind, and putting us in fresh remembrance of 
the Lord's manifold favours towards us, and gracious dealings 

25 



290 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694. 

with us ; which should be as a renewed engagement upon us to 
cleave fast unto the Lord, and in humility of heart, to walk 
closely with him, both that we may, as far as in us lies, answer 
his great loving kindness to us-ward, and receive from him still 
daily strength and ability to stand, and withstand the assaults 
and temptations of the enemy, and escape his snares, wherewith 
he is at this time, as busy and industrious to betray and draw 
aside from the simplicity of the truth, as ever he was. 

" For, Friends, ye know we have a restless adversary to watch 
against, and to war with ; one that sometimes walks about as a 
roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour, and sometimes creeps 
about as a subtle serpent, seeking whom he may betray ; whom, 
in each appearance, it is our duty and interest to resist, steadfast 
in the faith that overcomes. I need not recount unto you, my 
friends, the many winds and floods, storms and tempests^ of open 
and cruel persecutions, which this roaring adversary hath often 
raised and caused to beat upon us, to have driven us, if pos- 
sible, from off our foundation. Ye cannot have forgotten it, 
nor that noble arm of the Lord which was made bare for our 
preservation, and by preserving us against the most furious 
attacks, gave evidence even to the world, that we are that people 
whose house is founded and built upon the immovable rock, 
Christ Jesus. At this sort of fighting the enemy hath been 
foiled ; which hath made him shift his hand, and like a cunning 
hunter spread his nets, set his snares, lay his baits to catch the 
simple and unwary ones. Thus wrought this subtle enemy in 
the early times of Christianity, sometimes stirring up the rulers, 
both Jews and Gentiles, to fall with violent and bloody hands 
upon the little flock of Christ; and sometimes in the intermis- 
sions of those storms, covering his hooks with the taking baits 
of pleasure, profit and preferment, and catching some, perhaps, 
of those that had withstood the strongest storm of outward per- 
secution, and making them instruments for himself to work by, 
to betray others. 

" Such was Diotrephes of old, whose aspiring mind, loving 
and seeking pre-eminence, laboured to make a schism in the 



1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 291 

church, prating against even the elders thereof with malicious 
words. What mischief the wicked one hath wrought in our day, 
by such ambitious spirits, I need not recount ; nor is it pleasing to 
me to remember; ye know it, to your grief, as well as I. But 
this in all such cases is observable, that such as have made dis- 
turbances in the church, and have run into divisions and sepa- 
rations from Friends, have framed to themselves some specious 
pretence or other, as the inducement to their undertaking, which 
they have industriously spread abroad, and varnished over with 
the fairest colours they could, to allure and draw others to join 
them." 

This, with much more to the same purpose, which 
might be cited, I thought meet to mention, of the mer- 
cies of the Lord to his people, and preservation of 
them from the beginning ; well worth the reading. 
Then he recounts the wiles and workings of the 
Enemy, in drawing some aside from the simplicity of 
the Truth, and stirring them up to make divisions on 
one pretence or other, to disturb the peace of the 
church, and hinder the work of the Lord in the earth ; 
as lately in the separates. So now, being disappointed 
in that, he hath formed a new design in Gr. Keith ; yet 
to show the difference between the former and this, 
and consequently the confusion of their pretences, theirs 
relating to discipline, this to doctrine ; they alleged 
that Friends were gone too much from the inward to 
the outward ; this, that Friends were gone too much 
from the outward to the inward, &c, for our adversa- 
ries seldom agree in their charges. So T. Ellwood 
goes on to examine and compare his books, published 
beyond sea, with those he writ here, as to the ground 



292 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694. 

of the difference and separation ; which he lays at his 
door, manifesting his deceitful pretences, fallacies and 
self-contradictions; answering his cavils, and confuting 
his calumnies, that none might be deceived by him. 
Concluding, by way of application and warning to 
Friends, to beware of the Enemy's wiles ; which I 
doubt not had a good effect as to many, in preserving 
them out of the Enemy's snare, who were in danger 
of being staggered by him. 

When our friend T. Ellwood had written this epistle, 
he went up to London with it, and presented it to the 
Second-day's Morning Meeting, where such books and 
writings of Friends, as are intended for the press, used 
to be read and considered, and read it through in that 
meeting ; and not one Friend, though the meeting was 
pretty full, showed any disunity therewith, but ap- 
proved it, and left it to him to publish it. And yet 
G. Keith, pretended that it was printed in great dis- 
unity, and against the mind of many Friends, as 
though it was only approved and promoted by a party. 
I mention this, to show he stuck at nothing to make 
good his part. 

Against this book of T. Ellwood's, G. Keith made a 
heavy complaint to Friends, to have it called in, as 
very injurious to him, (to his cause, to be sure, poor 
man !) who had written so many books against Friends, 
after he had written so many for them, and would not 
take Friends' advice himself; how then could he expect 
they should answer him ? so that his complaint and 
clamour not prevailing to stifle it, he takes another way. 



1694.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 293 

first putting out a sheet against it, called, "A Loving 
Epistle," but envious enough; in which he charged T. 
Ellwood with fifty perversions, &c, which he said he 
had noted in his book ; but left his proofs behind to 
come after (the first by post, as the proverb is, the 
second by Tom Long the carrier) in another book 
which he threatened to publish, if T. Ellwood's was 
not called in, and disowned; this not prevailing neither, 
some weeks after, he sent forth his threatened book, 
miscalled, a A Seasonable Information," &c, but very 
unseasonable for himself, as to his reconciliation with 
Friends ; although he pretended he had rather lay 
down his natural life, or have his right hand cut off, 
than be disunited or disjointed from them. This book 
he pretended to be an answer to T. Ellwood's epistle, 
and to contain his proofs (such as they were) of the 
charge he had published before. To both these, our 
friend T. Ellwood replied this year, in a book entitled, 
"A further Discovery of that Spirit of Contention and 
Division, which hath appeared of late in George 
Keith, &c, wherein his Cavils are answered, his False- 
hood is laid open, and the Guilt and Blame of the 
Breach and Separation in America, &c, are fixed faster 
on him ; written by way of Epistle, (as the former was) 
and reeommended as a farther Warning to Friends;" 
which begins thus : — p 

"Dear Friends, who have received the Truth in the love of it, 
and have kept your habitation therein, unto whom the Truth is 
exceedingly precious, and who desire the prosperity thereof 
above all things ; unto you is the salutation of my endeared love 

25* 



294 THE HISTORY OF THE [1694. 

in this blessed Truth, in which the fellowship of the faithful 
stands. In this it is I desire to know you, to be known by you, 
and to have fellowship with you ; earnestly breathing to the 
God of Truth, the Father of spirits, that He would be pleased 
to pour forth more abundantly of his good Spirit into all our 
hearts, and fill us with the blessed fruits thereof, that there may 
be no room for the Enemy to enter, to break this holy fellow- 
ship ; but that all who profess to believe in the Light, may so 
walk therein, that a clear sight they may have thereby, and a 
true discerning between things that differ, and may be able to 
make a right judgment what is of God, and what is not ; that 
so the design of that spirit (by whatsoever instrument it works) 
which would break or disturb the church's peace, and cast 
reproach upon the heritage of God, may be so discovered and 
laid open, that all may see and shun it. As this is the exercise 
and travail of my spirit, so it is the service I have been of late, 
and am at present engaged in. For, Friends, it is not many 
months since I saluted you with an epistle, wherein my spirit 
was drawn forth, briefly to commemorate the gracious dealings 
of the Lord with his people ; and, as in a general way, to remind 
you of the many attempts the Enemy hath made by force and 
fraud, to hinder the work of God from going on ; so more par- 
ticularly to warn you to beware of that spirit of contention and 
division, which hath appeared of late in George Keith, and some 
few others that join with him, who have made a separation from 
Friends in some parts of America. In writing that epistle, I 
did not consult flesh and blood, neither had I an eye to my own 
ease and quiet, outwardly; for I had no reason to expect rest 
from so restless a man, nor fair treatment from one, who, in 
his late writings and personal debates, hath so notoriously let 
loose his pen and tongue, to an unbridled liberty of railing and 
reviling. But I cleared my conscience, in discharging my duty 
to God and to his church, and therein have that peace, which 
all his abuses cannot disturb/' 

And so he proceeds to clear himself of the perver- 



1695.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 295 

sions, which George Keith charged him with, and 
answers all his cavils against his book ; manifesting 
his deceit, evasions, and sophistry, so effectually, that 
I do not find that G. Keith ever replied to it, being 
answered home, and having enough, I suppose, of the 
controversy with T. Ell wood ; for though our friend 
Thomas answered several other of G. Keith's books 
afterwards, (of which hereafter) he never replied to 
any of them ; which shows he had enough of it. 

T. Ellwood's next book was in 1695, entitled, " Truth 
Defended, and the friends thereof cleared from the 
false charges, foul reproaches, and envious cavils cast 
upon it and them by George Keith, ( an apostate from 
them,) ir two books by him lately published; one called 
' A true Copy of a Paper delivered into the Yearly 
Meeting the other, ' The pretended Yearly Meeting's 
namele^ Bull of Excommunication.' : In which last, 
George Keith gives an account of his coming to the 
Yearly Meeting, (1695) and of his entertainment in 
it, wheri admitted; as if he had never been there be- 
fore, viz: "That he was allowed to sit at the great 
square table among the ministers and commissioners, 
(as he calls them,) that could hold about it, either fully, 
or near double, to the number of twenty-four : " whether 
by allusion to the twenty-four seats and elders, men- 
tioned Rev. iv., but doubling the number, he doth not 
determine; adding, "I think it suits not their crying 
out so much as they w T ere wont against chief seats in 
the synagogues, to erect such a stately fabric in their 
meeting-house at that time, little differing from the 



296 THE HIST0KY OF THE [1696 

manner of a throne, but that it is low upon the floor, 
covered with green cloth." All which only serves to 
show his own pageantry, and which our friend T. Ell- 
wood corrects him for, according to his deserts. For 
the table will hold few more than twenty-four or twenty- 
eight at most, and only necessary to lay books and 
papers on to write. 

In the beginning of this book, our friend T. Ellwood 
resumes the controversy from the beginning, shows the 
rise of the difference, and proceedings thereupon, in 
relation to George Keith, particularly after his coming 
into England in the beginning of 1694, and how he 
came to be disowned by the Yearly Meeting, in 1695, 
for his rejecting the advice of the former, and opposite 
carriage thereunto. 

He shows that by G. Keith's disorderly practices he 
had excluded himself from our society, before Friends 
disowned him. So leaving him without excuse, and 
the weight of his iniquity upon his own head, which he 
could never get from under, but waxed worse and 
worse, as evil men and seducers used to do, so that 
Truth was set over his head, and Friends were clear 
of him. 

But now another occasion offered, and that was, one 
Gerard Croese, a Dutchman, publishing U A General 
History (so called) of the Quakers, containing the 
Lives, Tenets, Sufferings, Trials, Speeches, and Letters 
(as pretended) of the most eminent of them/' first in 
Latin ; which was translated and printed in English in 
the year 1696. "Wherein, though he had represented 



1696.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 297 

some things pretty fairly, yet in others, through inad- 
vertency or ignorance, (I hope not wilfully,) he had 
misrepresented us, and our principles and practices ; 
whereupon our friend Thomas Ellwood, according to 
an advertisement at the end of the said history in 
English, that some remarks on it would be published, 
wrote some remarks on it in Latin, intending, doubt- 
less, to publish them ; but in the mean time, before 
they were finished, a book of the same nature, and to 
the same purpose, in Latin, was published in Holland, 
by way of remarks or observations on the said history; 
which seemed again to circumvent him in his intended 
remarks on it, so that he laid them by, and never 
finished them, and so the world was deprived of this 
piece also. 

But now G\ Keith being gone out from the fellow- 
ship of the faithful, and hardened in his enmity against 
Friends, he arrived to the top or height of opposition ; 
he had been playing small stakes hitherto, but now 
came to throw all at once. In order to wdiich, he 
erected a stage of contention at Turner's-hall in Phil- 
pot-lane, London, where he had held separate meetings 
for some time before ; to oppose Friends in general, 
under pretence of discovering divers errors out of the 
Quakers' books (that were never in them) ; and pub- 
lished an advertisement of a meeting he intended to 
hold there, in the fourth month, 1696, to discover the 
Quakers' errors, though he had been one so long him- 
self, and vindicated them, as to all that any could 
object against, and yet now came to accuse them him- 



298 THE HISTORY OF THE [169S 

self. But Friends slighted him, not thinking it worth 
their while to follow him, or dance after his pipe to 
Turner's-hall. Of which contentious meeting he after- 
wards published a narrative ; which our friend T. Ell- 
wood answered this year, in a book entitled, "An 
Answer to George Keith's Narrative of his Proceed- 
ings at Turner's-hall, &c, wherein his Charges against 
divers of the people called Quakers, (in that and 
another Book of his, called Gross Errors, &c.,) are 
fairly considered, examined, and refuted." And he 
made his title good in a close answer, and entire con- 
futation of all his cavils against our Friends' books.* 

Some angry priests in Norfolk, on our Friends having 
a meeting near one of them, and Truth spreading, to 
their regret, challenged a dispute with some Friends 
at West Deerham, in that county, the 8th of the tenth 
month, 1698. Where some of our Friends appearing, 
and answering them, so disappointed the priests in 
their envious designs in the said dispute, that they 
afterwards promoted two petitions against our Friends 
to the Parliament, one from Norfolk, the other from 
Suffolk, to stir up persecution against them, that what 
they could not do by arguments, they might by force. 
To which two petitions, our friend T. Ellwood (having 
obtained copies of them) wrote "A Sober Reply on 
behalf of the People called Quakers, to two Petitions 
against them, the one out of Norfolk, and the other 

* For a further account of the apostacy of George Keith, the 
reader is referred to Sewer's History of the People called 
Quakers. 



1699.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 299 

from Bury in Suffolk ; being some brief Observations 
upon them;" printed 1699, manifesting their mischiev- 
ous machinations against the Truth and Friends. This, 
with some other discouragements, through the labour 
and industry of Friends at London, in attending the 
Parliament, and delivering printed papers, particularly, 
U A few Considerations humbly offered to the members 
of Parliament, to obviate some evil Jealousies, and 
Designs against the People called Quakers," so quashed 
their malicious purposes, that their petitions were never 
delivered to, or received by the Parliament, but fell 
and came to nothing ; and their evil designs were frus- 
trated, Friends were preserved, and Truth prospered 
over their heads. 

About this time also our friend William Perm being 
gone to Pennsylvania in the 7th month of 1699, and 
George Keith continuing his opposition against Truth 
and Friends, sometimes more general at Turner's-hall, 
where, as the course of his delirious distemper returned, 
(as J. .Wyeth observes in his answer to his advertise- 
ment this year,) he held his contentious meetings once 
a-year, to pick passages out of Friends' books to cavil 
at, though he could not answer nor clear himself of 
Thomas Ellwood's, or others that were wrote against 
him. And sometimes more particularly against single 
persons, especially William Penn, against whom he 
chose to vent his malice above most others, especially 
now in his absence, making him the butt of his indig- 
nation ; and published two books against him, ono 
called, " The Deism of William Penn and his breth- 



300 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1702. 

ren &c." This our friend T. Ellwood undertook to 
answer, and made a considerable progress in it, in a 
large book of forty sheets. 

But before he had finished this answer, though he 
had gone about two-thirds through it, Benjamin Coal, 
of Bristol, published a book there, entitled, " Honesty 
the truest Policy," showing the sophistry, envy, and 
perversion of George Keith in his three books. On 
perusal of which, Thomas Ellwood deelined pursuing 
the subject further. 

His next service, upon a general foot, which I find 
any footsteps of, was on this occasion : one John 
Shockling, a priest, of Ash near Sandwich in Kent, 
having got some of the Snake's books,* set up for an 
opposer or disputant about Water Baptism, and sent a 
paper to John Love, called, "A Question upon those 
words in Matthew xxviii. 19, ' Go ye therefore and 
teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the 
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.' 
Whether the apostles were not commanded by them 
to baptize with water ?" This paper and question our 
friend T. Ellwood answered in the fourth month, 1701, 
very much to the purpose. To which the priest, being 
unwilling to take an answer and let it drop so, replying, 
(I might say to little purpose,) T. Ellwood wrote a 
Rejoinder, in the fourth month, 1702. Both which 
Answ T er and Rejoinder, being very pertinent to the 
purpose, and notable on that subject, I should insert 

* In allusion to Leslie's " Snake in the Grass." 



1705.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 301 

some of it, but that it was only private, and never 
published that I know of; and therefore I would not 
begin to be the first publisher thereof. 

But now we come to his great work of the History 
of the Old Testament, which at his leisure he had in 
hand for some years; and both he and we had this ad- 
vantage of his being put by his work in answering ad- 
versaries, particularly that of the Snake, and G. Keith's 
Deism — having now seemed to have done with contro- 
versy, that he had the more time and leisure to prose- 
cute this more excellent work; which having finished 
in 1704, he brought it up to London, to show it to 
Friends, for their perusal and approbation. Which 
being done, it was published in folio the next year, 
1705, under the title of " Sacred History ; or the His- 
torical Part of the Holy Scriptures of the Old Testa- 
ment, gathered out from the other parts thereof, and 
digested (as near as well could be) into due Method, 
with respect to Order of Time and Place. With some 
Observations here and there, tending to illustrate some 
Passages therein." 

In his preface to which, he mentions the praise of 
historv out of Cicero, viz. — that it is u the Witness of 
Times, the Light of Truth, the Life of Memory," &c, 
which he thinks cannot be so w T ell verified of any par- 
ticular history, as of that which, being written by 
divinely-inspired penmen, is contained in the books of 
the Old and New Testament. Then speaking of the 
motive or inducement to the undertaking, two things, 
he says, more especially led him to it; one, that the 
26 



302 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1705. 

Divine Providence, the wisdom, power, goodness, and 
favour of God, in ordering, disposing, providing for, 
preserving, defending, and wonderfully delivering his 
servants and people out of the greatest straits, diffi- 
culties, hardships, dangers, and sufferings, being more 
directly, and in a continued series and course of actions 
set before the reader's eye, he might be thereby the 
more stirred up, and engaged to admire and magnify, 
to love, reverence, and fear the Lord, and be the more 
careful not to offend him. The other motive was, that 
all the youth especially, of either sex, under whatso- 
ever religious denomination they go, might be furnished 
with such an entertainment, to spend, at least, their 
leisure hours upon, as might yield them at once both 
profit and delight. After which he proceeds to speak 
of the manner of performance under eight heads. 

Then he gives account who hath written on this sub- 
ject; particularly a Treatise called, " The General 
View of the Holy Scriptures," supposed to be the 
learned Broughton's, which T. Ellwood commends as a 
useful discourse in its kind. And of late years " Chris- 
topher Ness, his History and Mystery of the Old and 
New Testaments," in four volumes ; a book, says he, 
well fraught w T ith variety of useful matter ; but the 
mystery is not only interwoven with the history, but 
hath also so much overgrown it, that the reader who 
desires to peruse the history by itself, will be at some 
loss in that respect. And that which promises most to 
answer his end, he says, is R. Blome's History of the 
Old and New Testament. A work indeed not only in- 



1705.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 303 

structive and delightful, but pompous and magnificent. 
A character that may justly be applied to our friend's 
own work, except the word pompous. A work indeed 
it is both pleasant and profitable ; such judicious ob- 
servations, and witty, though grave, turns on passages 
and things, as make it, as well as his other writings, 
not only pleasant to read, but profitable to the reader. 
A work that will remain a monument of his worth and 
ingenuity to generations to come. 

I would only add, that there is a book of Sulpitius 
Severus, entitled, Sacred History ; but as that is in 
Latin, and far short of this of T. Ellwood's, so this 
cannot interfere with that, or be justly thought to be in 
imitation of it. 

About this time we entered into a more particular 
correspondence, by letters on several occasions, which 
we continued, at times, almost till his death. So that 
I usually imparted to him the most remarkable occur- 
rences that passed here, and often advised with him in 
the most important affairs, as I had occasion ; and he, 
in requital, was always ready to answer me, in a very 
obliging manner, in anything I desired. And I must 
acknowledge, he was very helpful to me by his advice, 
in some controversies I had with some late adversaries, 
which I shall not now name, some of them being gone 
to their graves ; and his friendly correspondence was 
always very acceptable, and instructive as well as 
grateful to me, in his agreeable letters ; of which I 
have many by me. Some of which he hath inserted in 
his Decades. 



304 THE HISTORY OF THE [1706 

The next year, viz. 1706, there followed an inter- 
course of some letters between him and William Sewel, 
of Holland, upon some particular points, which led into 
a friendly correspondence between them in some other 
matters not unpleasant to read. Several of which 
letters of T. Ellwood's are in his Decades, with many 
others to divers persons, friends, and others, on various 
subjects ; which, if ever it should be thought meet to 
publish them, or any of them, they would, I doubt not, 
be very instructive, as well as diverting. 

His next public work was on this occasion. About 
this time a book w T as published by a nameless author, 
called, "A Divine Treatise, written by way of Essay, 
to demonstrate, according to the Mosaical Philosophy, 
Water Baptism, Imposition of Hands, and the Com- 
memoration of the Death and Passion of our ever 
blessed Lord and Saviour, under the Species of Bread 
and Wine," &c. This treatise coming accidentally or 
providentially to our friend Thomas Ellwood's hands, 
as he says in his preface, he observed that the design 
of the author therein was, to re-introduce and set up 
again those typical representations therein treated of, 
among those who have been led by the Lord out of the 
use thereof, into a more spiritual dispensation. And 
finding his understanding in some measure opened, to 
see the danger and mischief of that undertaking, and 
his spirit withal stirred in him against it, he felt a con- 
cern upon his mind to publish his observations which 
he had made thereon, that others might the more 
clearly see and readily escape the snare therein laid to 



1707.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 305 

entangle them, and to draw them into bondage to out- 
ward ceremonies, and elementary shadows again. This 
he did in a book printed in 1707, entitled, " The glo- 
rious Brightness of the Gospel Day, dispelling the 
Shadows of the Legal Dispensation, and whatsoever 
else of human Invention, hath been superadded there- 
unto." And hoped to make it evident, that they are 
not of the nature of the Gospel dispensation ; nor have 
by any divine institution a continued place or service 
in the church of Christ : without taking notice who or 
what he was that wrote it. He says herein : — 

" Since the author of the treatise under my observation hath 
thought fit to conceal his name, I shall not pry behind the 
curtain which himself hath thereby drawn before him, or con- 
cern myself to inquire either who or what he is, or has been ; 
but without any regard to that, shall directly apply myself to 
give a plain answer to the most material parts of his treatise." 

This he did to the purpose, in a close and ner- 
vous answer ; it being indeed an excellent treatise, 
well worth the perusal of every impartial reader ; to 
whom therefore I recommend it. 

And now I must say something of him under another 
consideration as well as writing. He had written seve- 
ral books against Tithes, as before hinted, to show the 
unsuitableness of them to the gospel dispensation, being 
JeAvish in their original, and Popish in their revival, 
and that the obligation of paying them was ceased 
under the gospel, as to any divine right from Scrip- 
ture. And now it fell to his lot to suffer also in his 
turn for his testimony against the payment of them ; 
26* 



306 THE HISTORY OF THE [1708. 

for to him it was given, in the behalf of Christ, not 
only to believe in Him, and bear witness to his coming 
in the flesh, and offering up himself, to put an end to 
the law and priesthood, tithes and offerings ; but also 
to suffer for his sake, being prosecuted, with three 
Friends more, viz., John Penington, Abraham Butter- 
field, and Wm. Catch, in the Exchequer for tithes, at 
the suit of Joshua Leaper, tithe-farmer, of Amersham, 
in the county of Bucks, under Humphrey Drake, clerk, 
rector, and parson, (so called,) of the rectory and parish 
church of Agmondesham, alias Amersham aforesaid. 
Thomas Ellwood and the rest were subpoenaed to appear 
at Westminster, in Trinity Term, 1707; which they 
did by an attorney, to prevent being in contempt of 
the court, and took a copy of the complainant's bill. 
But for not answering, attachments were issued out in 
Michaelmas Term, to take them up ; on which they 
were taken into custody in the eleventh month, and 
afterwards an Habeas Corpus sent down to the sheriff 
of Bucks, to bring them up to the Exchequer bar in 
Trinity Term, 1708 ; on which they came up. To pre- 
vent the plaintiff's going on to a sequestration by de- 
fault, they put in their answers; setting forth the value 
of the tithes, according to the best of their knowledge. 
Yet so vexatious was the adversary, that he would not 
be satisfied with their answer, but got a commission of 
inquiry to examine witnesses in the country, as to the 
value of the tithes, which they did at Amersham in 
the tenth month. The first witness they examined 
was one E. — G. — , of the parish of Chessam, aged 



1709.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 307 

(as they say) 44 years, or thereabouts, who deposed. 
"That he knew the complainant and defendants; and 
had known the complainant about sixty years," (w T hich 
was about sixteen years before he was born :) whereby 
we may judge of the rest of his evidence. 

The charge of this commission, and executing it. 
came to between thirty and forty pounds, though 
some of it w r as abated on taxing the cost ; and yet they 
proved little, if anything more than the defendants had 
set down in their answers, yet went on to a hearing on 
it, and obtained a decree for the tithes and costs. For 
not performing which, attachments were issued out 
afresh against them in Trinity Term, 1709, to the 
sheriff of Hertfordshire, and then a proclamation ; T. 
Ellwood, A. Butterfield, and W. Catch, living in that 
county ; but John Penington, living in Bucks, was 
dropped, because the attachments to the sheriff of 
Hertfordshire would not reach him. But the sheriff 
living remote, did not endeavour to take them, and the 
prosecutor seemed rather to aim at a sequestration on 
their goods and estates, than their bodies ; so that see- 
ing them resolved to go on, the defendants, to prevent 
it j offered to surrender themselves to the sheriff; but 
he returned them each, Non est inventus, and they got 
a commission of rebellion antedated, and moved for a 
serjeant-at-arms the same day, to run them to a se- 
questration in all haste, Leaper being sick and bad, 
like to die, lest he should not live till it was accom- 
plished ; but being so illegal, at least in point of time, 
for that there ought to be eight days between the test 



308 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1709 

and return of the writ, in thirty miles off London, and 
fourteen beyond, on our appearing against it, they 
could not obtain it till Hillary term. In which time 
Leaper recovered, and one might have hoped that he 
might have repented ; but instead thereof, then got a 
sequestration against them and their estates, both real 
and personal. The claims on Thomas Ellwood, Abra- 
ham Butterfield, and William Catch, amounted to £32 
14s. lOd. and the costs to £71 17s. 8d. making a total 
of £104 12s. 6(i. ; to defray which, goods were dis- 
trained from Thomas Ellwood to the amount of <£24 
10s. Od. and from his two friends, amounting to £107 
16s. 8ci, total £132 6s. 8d. ; thus leaving a balance of 
£27 14s. 2d. over the entire demand and costs. 

And yet, what by charge of sequestration making 
out, and selling the corn underhand, they brought in 
the defendants in debt, and wanted more. 

I have been the larger in this account, to show the 
proceeding of the Exchequer, and the fruit of tithes, 
to ruin the Queen's subjects for small matters, when 
they might recover by justices' warrants to the value 
of £10, with the hundredth part of the charge. 

Now we come to the second volume of his great 
work, the History of the New Testament, which he had 
in hand at times, for the most part since he finished 
his former; and when he had finished this, he brought 
it up to London for Friends' perusal and«approbation ; 
where it was read, and afterwards published this year, 
1709, in folio, under the same title as the former, 
only as that was of the Old Testament, this was of the 



1709.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. g()0 

New, viz., " Sacred History, or the Historical Part of 
the Holy Scriptures of the New Testament," &c, as 
in the title of the former, which as I gave some ac- 
count of, so it behooves I should of this. The former 
treatise (says he in his preface) having found a favour- 
able reception, he was thence encouraged to resume his 
pen, which at the close of that volume he had let fall, 
and proceed to the methodizing of the historical part 
of the New Testament in two parts. In the first part 
whereof the reader will find an account of the concep- 
tion, birth, life, travels, doctrines, discourses, miracles, 
sufferings, death, burial, resurrection, and ascension 
of our blessed Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, the 
author of the true Christian religion, plainly, fairly, 
and succinctly given ; ushered in with a brief account 
of the conception, birth, manner of life, ministry, and 
death of his forerunner John, surnamed the Baptist; 
and attended, in the second part, with a like historical 
account of the acts and travels of the apostles of our 
Lord, in the propagation of his blessed Gospel, after 
the ascension of our blessed Saviour : so far, at least, 
as the evangelist Luke, in the Acts of the Apostles, 
hath recorded, or the clue or thread of the holy text 
leads him ; beyond which, he says, he was not willing 
to adventure. 

In this undertaking, he says, he aimed at the same 
end as in the former, viz. That all the youth, espe- 
cially of either sex, under whatsoever religious deno- 
mination they go, might be further furnished with such 
an entertainment, to spend at least their leisure hours 



310 THE HISTORY OF THE [1709 

upon, as might yield them at once both profit and de- 
light ; and might be thereby drawn off from mis-spend- 
ing their precious time upon other, either hurtful, or 
at best, unprofitable subjects. Then he gives account 
why he hath, with the matter of fact, delivered the 
discourses, speeches, sermons, and doctrines delivered 
by our blessed Lord to his disciples, &c. ; namely, that 
the nature of the history required it, and that without 
it the discourse would have been less profitable and 
pleasant to the reader, and by that means less condu- 
cive to the end he proposed, which is to allure him to 
read the Holy Scriptures with delight. 

After which he gives an account of his going from 
place to place in the Evangelists, to reduce the several 
parts and passages of the history (in the first part) to 
their due and proper times and places, which he en- 
deavoured to do, (though difficult) as near as he could. 
But the second part (the Acts) being all written by one 
hand, the method is more regular, and the course of 
the history more clear. Yet the apostolical epistles 
being without date, are hardly, he conceives, to be re- 
duced with indubitable certainty to exact order ; which 
yet he hath endeavoured to place them right, accord- 
ing to the best of his understanding. Then owning 
the helps he had in compiling this history, had been 
chiefly from the critics, and Cradock's Harmony of the 
four Evangelists, and his Apostolical History, with a 
few words of the performance ; w 7 hich if not done as it 
should, nor as he would, yet as well as he could ; and 



1710.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 311 

therefore, in all humility, recommending and commit- 
ting it to the divine disposal, he concludes his preface. 

Next to the preface is an introduction, concerning 
the penmen of the New Testament, and in what lan- 
guage originally written, and in what order of time, 
particularly of the four evangelists, Matthew, Mark, 
Luke, and John, what they were, the time of their 
writing, and some particular circumstances concerning 
them and their ends, well worth the reader's perusal, 
for the better understanding the history, both of the 
evangelists and apostles. So proceeds to the History ; 
which he deduces from the promised Seed after the fall, 
for man's restoration, which the prophets foretold the 
coming of, and which he pleasantly draws out at large 
in order of time, and explains with the like judicious 
observations as in the former ; taking in the Epistles 
of Saint Paul, &c, in the second part, in their proper 
places, as near as could be, and gives an account of 
them, the occasion why, the manner how, and time 
when they were written : ending with the Revelations, 
which he renders as a revelation unrevealed, with some 
brief notes on it. The whole, as I said of the former, 
being both pleasant and profitable ; both which will 
remain a lasting monument of him in time to come. 

This year, 1710, our friend Oliver Sansom, formerly 
of Farringdon, since of Abingdon, in Berkshire, who 
had long war with the priests about tithes, died in the 
second month ; and leaving behind him an account of 
some remarkable passages of his life, which he com- 
municated in his lifetime to our friend T. Ellwood to 



312 THE HISTORY OE THE [1711. 

peruse, who being always ready to be helpful and 
serviceable to all, especially his friends, he transcribed 
the same, and fitted it for the press. This work was 
printed this year ; and to it Thomas Ellwood prefixed 
a testimony concerning him, pertinent to the occasion. 
There is one book more of his, which he published 
in his life-time, which it seems he had had by him, for 
the most part, a long time, and after he had finished 
his Sacred History of the New Testament, he took in 
hand to finish, and completed ; and that is, the Life of 
David in verse ; first begun for his own diversion, not 
then thinking of the press, and carried on, by degrees, 
to the end of the third book, in the year 1688, as hinted 
before in that year ; when the Prince of Orange land- 
ing, and the nation being in arms, the noise of guns, 
and sounds of drums and trumpets so affrighted and 
disturbed his peaceful muse, (as he says in his preface,) 
that both she for a while forsook him, and he there- 
upon the work, for above twenty years ; save that on 
a review, observing how abruptly David was brought 
in, he added the first chapter of the first book, to in- 
troduce his hero from the beginning of his story. 
Where it rested again, without any prospect of its ever 
going further, until the last winter, (1711) when having, 
as he says, less health and more leisure, than ai some 
times before, he took it up for an entertainment, to 
make some uneasy hours pass over somewhat less un- 
easily. And after he had read it through, consider- 
ing that if, after his death, it should be found among 
his papers, and committed to the press, it would be 



1712.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 313 

but an imperfect piece, he found an inclination to carry 
on the story to the end of David's life ; and giving a 
kind invitation to his gentle muse to return (which by 
some short visits on particular occasions in the inter- 
val, had given him some ground to hope she had not 
quite forsaken him), he entered again upon the subject 
where he had left off, and by degrees went through it, 
till he had brought his warlike hero to his peaceful 
grave. 

After it was finished, deliberating whether to publish 
it himself, or leave it as a posthume, to be published by 
some kind hand after his death ; for some reasons par- 
ticularly, that if any should carp at it, he might be 
capable to answer for himself, he thought best to 
publish it in his life-time ; and accordingly brought it 
up with him when he came to the Yearly Meeting, 1712, 
but not having then an opportunity to have it read, he 
came up again with it some time after, I think the last 
time he was at London ; and after reading, committed 
it to the press this year, under the title of " Davideis. 
The Life of David, King of Israel. A Sacred Poem, 
in five books, in octavo." Though, as he observes, 
Abraham Cowley wrote a poem called Davideis, he had 
not read it till after he had finished his ; and besides 
their different way of writing, A. Cowley's was but of 
the troubles of David in his youth, and that not half 
finished. And that he had the same aim in this, as in 
that of his Sacred History aforesaid. The book begins 
thus : — 
27 



314 THE HISTORY OF THE [1712. 

I sing the life of David, Israel's King: 
Assist, thou Sacred Pow'r, who didst him bring 
From the sheepfold, and set him on the throne, 
Thee, I invoke, on Thee rely alone. 
Breathe on my muse, and fill her slender quill 
With Thy refreshing dews from Herman-hill ; 
That what she sings may turn unto thy praise, 
And to thy name may lasting trophies raise. 

Thus having gone through his printed books and 
papers, which I have endeavoured to give a plain and 
succinct account of, and of him out of them, as far as 
I could, and with as much brevity as well might be, I 
shall now speak somewhat of him in his private capacity, 
and other services and station in the church, with his 
death and character ; and so conclude the whole. 

He lived many years, if not most of his time, espe- 
cially after be w T as married, at Hunger-hill, in the 
parish of Agmondesham, alias Amersham, in Bucking- 
hamshire, though his house stood in Hertfordshire, as 
aforesaid ; where the Monthly Meetings of men and 
women were constantly kept, for that part of the 
county of Bucks : wherein he was very serviceable in 
writing, advising, and exhorting to keep all things well 
and in good order, according to Truth and the testi- 
mony thereof; and had a peculiar gift for government 
in the church, and ordering things in Monthly and 
Quarterly Meetings, and used to come up constantly 
to the Yearly Meeting at London, and was very service- 
able therein ; not only by his grave counsel and advice, 
but also in reading and writing on occasion, especially 
in difficult matters. He had a singular talent in indi- 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 315 

ting and composing of things, epistles, and papers, 
beyond many; so that I must needs say, he was an 
ornament to the meeting, and will be much missed 
therein, and many other ways. His wife died about 
five years before him, being a solid, weighty woman, 
who had a public testimony for the Lord and his Truth 
in meetings ; and therefore the greater loss to him and 
Friends : and for himself, he lived a private, retired 
life, not concerning himself with much business in the 
world, but gave himself much to reading and writing, 
and lived in good repute among Friends, and all sorts 
of people, as far as ever I heard of, to a pretty good 
age. He bore age very well, being of a regular life, 
and healthy constitution ; only in his latter years he 
was somewhat troubled at times with an asthma. 

At last he was taken ill of a palsy, the 23rd of 
second month, 1713, which he bore with great patience 
and resignation ; an account of which, and his dying 
words, I leave to them who were with him in the time 
of his sickness, the eighth day of which he departed 
this life, being the 1st of third month, in the seventy- 
fourth year of his age ; having served his generation 
according to the will of God, he fell asleep, and was 
honourably buried the second day following, being the 
4th of the third month, at Jordan s ; being accompanied 
from his own house by a great many Friends and 
others, to the meeting-house there, (the meeting he 
belonged to,) and interred in the burying-ground be- 
longing thereto, where was a very large meeting, and 
great appearance of Friends and others, several public 



316 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 

Friends being there from London and other parts ; and 
divers living testimonies borne to the Truth, he lived 
and died in, in a living remembrance of him, and his 
services in the church. 

A man of a comely aspect, of a free and generous 
disposition, of a courteous and affable temper, and 
pleasant conversation ; a gentleman, a scholar, a true 
Christian, an eminent author, a good neighbour, and 
kind friend : whose loss is much lamented, and will be 
much missed at home and abroad. The Lord, if it be 
his will, raise up many more such pillars, elders, and 
overseers of his flock, and family, as watchmen upon 
Zion's walls ; for his honour, and the benefit of his 
church and people, saith my soul. Amen. 



J. Wyeth. 



London, 
30th of ninth month, 1713. 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 317 



POSTSCRIPT. 

Since the writing of the foregoing Supplement, I 
have understood that our friend Thomas Ellwood, after 
he had finished and published his Davideis, signified, 
that he had but one thing more that lay upon his 
mind; and that was, to add something to his Journal, 
or Account of his Life ; this was chiefly to give an ac- 
count of his books and writings ; which shows he had 
not done it, or finished it before, and it is to be doubted 
he did not after, not living long after that, and so no 
more to be expected (more is the pity) from his own 
hand. So it shows what his design was, as to what he 
intended to have added to it, had he lived to perform 
it, or had not death prevented him. So that the afore- 
said Supplement seems, in some sort at least, to an- 
swer his own intention, though far short, as was said, 
of what his own hand could have done ; yet so far as 
it does any way answer his mind, I am therein glad 
that I have done any service to his memory, or the 
Truth in that respect, having endeavoured to represent 
things according to his own mind, and to speak of him 
and things as probably he would have done if he had 
been living, and hope the reader will accept it the 
better. To whom therefore I recommend it, as giving 
at least a fair character of the books he wrote, and 
controversies he managed, both published and unpub- 
27* 



318 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713 

lished ; which I hope will be no dis-service, but service 
to the Truth, as it is intended in the fear of God. 

To whose honour, and the service of his Truth, I 
desire, with great sincerity, to dedicate the remainder 
of my days, and rest a friend to all men, 

J. Wyeth. 



The following is given as a specimen of Thomas 
Ellwood's poetry, written at an early period of his 



life 



Oh that mine eyes might closed be 

To what becomes me not to see ; 

That deafness might possess mine ear, 

To what concerns me not to hear; 

That Truth my tongue might always tie, 

From ever speaking foolishly ; 

That no vain thoughts might ever rest, 

Or be conceived in my breast; 

That by each word, each deed, each thought, 

Glory may to my God be brought. 

But what are wishes ! Lord, mine eye 

On thee is fix'd, to thee I cry ; 

Oh purge out all my dross, my tin, 

Make me more white than snow within; 

Wash, Lord, and purify my heart, 

And make it clean in every part ; 

And when 'tis clean, Lord keep it too, 

For that is more than I can do. 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 319 



TESTIMONIES 



TESTIMONY OF GEORGE BOWLES 

CONCERNING THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

Dear Friends. It is in my heart, on this occasion, 
briefly to commemorate the tender dealings of the 
Lord with his people in this latter age of the world, 
when it hath pleased him, in love to poor lost man, 
graciously to appear, by the breaking forth of his 
glorious gospel day. And by the secret divine reaches 
of the hand of God, which hath been felt and seen in 
the Light of it, many have been drawn in their spirits 
to seek after the Lord, and to enquire after the know- 
ledge of the way of life and salvation ; and blessed be 
his holy name, who was graciously pleased, by the in- 
shinings of this Divine Light in the hearts of many, 
to expel the darkness and rend the veil. 

And then was the arm of his mighty power made 
bare, for the gathering many thousands to the saving 
knowledge of himself. And in that day was the Lord 
pleased, according to his promise, to pour forth of his 
spirit upon sons and upon daughters ; yea, upon ser- 
vants and upon handmaids, and many were made to 
prophesy ; and being qualified by the Holy Spirit 



320 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 

which they received and were baptized by it into his 
name, became willing, and were freely given up in 
obedience to the Lord, and in bowels of tender love to 
the souls of mankind, in his power to preach the gospel 
of life and salvation to those to whom they were sent ; 
and many were turned from darkness to light, and from 
the power of Satan unto God, by their ministry. 

Amongst whom our dear deceased friend and brother 
Thomas Ellwood was one, whose conscience was reached 
and awakened by the powerful ministry of dear Edward 
Burrough, as I have heard him relate. And of that 
day and time, and the worthy instrument by whose 
ministry he was convinced, and turned unto God, and 
made sensible of the divine principle of life and Light 
in his own heart, have I heard him speak with great 
regard ; and also of the sufferings which did attend 
him, after he received the Truth, in his father's family, 
for the Truth's sake ; and how the Lord preserved him 
in that time, under the various exercises which he 
passed through for Truth's testimony ; which for 
Christ's sake he was conscientiously concerned to stand 
in, according to that plainness and simplicity which 
Truth then led, and still continues to lead the sincere 
disciples of Christ into, by which they were distin- 
guished from the world ; and, for the sake thereof, they 
were despised of men, and hated of the world. Such 
was the plain language of Thou to one, and refusing 
the hat honour; for which T. Ellwood suffered not a 
little in that day, as by the account of his life more 
fully appears. And it were well if all, who come up 



]713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 321 

in a profession of the blessed Truth, in this time, were 
faithful in these, and in the other branches of its tes- 
timony. And let all consider, that the neglecting 
thereof is, in a degree, a making void the sufferings 
of the faithful, (and strengthening the hands of evil 
doers,) who, for the sake of their testimony, loved not 
their lives to the death ; but underwent cruel mockings, 
buffetings, stonings, whippings, stockings, revilings, 
imprisonments, and spoiling of goods ; rejoicing in the 
Lord, that they were counted worthy to suffer, either 
less or more, for his name's sake. In respect of which, 
this my dear friend was a good example, he being a 
man of a steady mind, and very patient in suffering, as 
well as faithful in his testimony for Truth, and took 
joyfully the spoiling of his goods, wherein he was tried 
but a few years before his death. 

He was often concerned in defence of Truth's testi- 
mony, both against our professed adversaries, and also 
against the libertine spirit which appeared in some, 
professing the same Truth with us, who opposed them- 
selves against that good order and discipline which 
the Truth led Friends into. All whieh will abundantly 
appear from the books themselves, which are in print, 
which he writ upon various occasions, and upon divers 
subjects; and let not his great labour and industry be 
forgotten, in his writing those two historical volumes, 
relating to the Old and New Testament ; a work truly 
great, and is and may be of great use and service. 

By all which his many labours, it may be perceived 
by the wary and enlightened reader, that the Lord 



822 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1713, 

had endowed him with an excellent gift, and qualified 
him for the service of Truth, his church and people ; 
in which he employed the talent which the bountiful 
Lord had given him, to the honour of the great Giver, 
and to the comfort and edification of the church of 
Christ. 

But more especially were his services known to the 
brethren in this county of Bucks ; most of whom are 
fallen asleep, and but few remaining here, who knew 
him in his beginning, or his first services for the Lord, 
his church and people ; amongst whom he was a zeal- 
ous asserter of that excellent discipline the Lord had 
opened in, and led his people to, for the preserving 
his church as a garden enclosed : for which cause, how 
did many of those libertines set themselves fiercely 
against him, and shoot their arrows at him ; but the 
Lord defended him, and covered his head in the day 
of battle, and his bow abode in strength, and his 
bough spread over the wall, and continued fresh and 
green ; but a blast from the Lord came upon their evil 
work ; and how have they melted away ! And how is 
their strength failed, and their work brought to nought ! 
But the blessing of the Lord is with his people, even 
w T ith the faithful, to this day, whom he hath preserved 
as a peculiar treasure to himself: blessed be his holy 
name for evermore. 

And furthermore, it may be truly said of this our 
dear friend, that as the Lord fitted him for his service, 
so was he eminently serviceable in his hand, in the 
church of Christ; particularly in these parts, of which 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 323 

there are many living witnesses, in this and the adja- 
cent counties, of his great labour of love, having served 
the church freely, with great diligence and faithful- 
ness ; the true sense of which toucheth me and others, 
with the deeper sense of the great loss the church hath 
by his removal : but being also sensible, through the 
Lord's goodness, that our loss is his eternal gain, I feel 
in my heart an humble submission to the will of Him 
who doth whatsoever pleaseth Him, both in heaven and 
in earth ; and who shall say unto him, " What doest 
thou? M 

And it is the tender breathing of my spirit to the 
God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, that he 
would be graciously pleased, in pity and compassion to 
his poor people, to raise up, fit and furnish more faith- 
ful servants for his work and service, and make them 
zealous for his name and Truth upon the earth, that 
the place of this my dear friend, and other faithful 
servants of the Lord and his people, of late removed 
from amongst us in these parts, may be supplied ; and 
that the spouse of Christ may, amidst all her tribula- 
tions, afflictions, and sore exercises, be made to praise 
the Lord, and bless his holy name, who taketh away 
one, and raiseth up another, and blesseth his children 
with his goodness, according to his promise made of 
old by the holy prophet Isaiah, (xliv. 3.) saying, "I 
will pour my spirit upon thy seed, and my blessing 
upon thine offspring." And thus hath the Lord pre- 
served Zion from age to age : and I doubt not, but am 



324 TIIE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 

fully persuaded, that he will still bless his people, and 
preserve Zion, and deliver her from all her enemies. 

And, my dear friends, brethren, and sisters, although 
it be matter of sorrow to us to part with our dear 
friends, especially such as have been made serviceable 
in their day, and have faithfully served the Lord and 
his people in their generation, as it may (I hope with- 
out just occasion of offence to any) be said of dear 
Thomas Ellwood, that he was a man who served the 
Lord in faithfulness, and his people with cheerfulness, 
and his neighbours with uprightness and integrity ; and 
therefore both they and we have the greater loss. Yet 
may we not sorrow unseasonably, as those which sorrow 
without hope ; but, believing that the Lord hath taken 
him to himself in mercy (though it may be in judgment 
to some who were unworthy), let us all learn resignation 
to his blessed will, and say with Job, " The Lord gave, 
and the Lord hath taken away.; blessed be the name 
of the Lord." 

And, dear friends, I may farther signify unto you, 
that it being my lot to be with this our dear friend, of 
whom I am speaking, almost every day of his last ill- 
ness, I did observe in him, to my great comfort and 
satisfaction, a quiet composed frame of mind and spirit, 
and resignation to the will of God. When I came 
first to him, soon after I heard of his being taken ill, 
which was the twenty-fourth of the second month, I 
found him very much disabled by the distemper, which 
was thought to be a palsy, that seized him, especially 
on his right side, so that he could not stand alone, nor 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 325 

help himself, but a little with his left hand ; and his 
speech was also very much interrupted, insomuch that 
it was with great difficulty, for the most part, that he 
expressed himself so as to be understood. 

Some time after I came to him, there being also other 
friends with him, we sat down together under a weighty 
exercise of spirit, waiting upon the Lord, in deep 
silence, with our eye to Him, it pleased the Lord 
eminently to appear amongst us, and to fill our hearts 
with the refreshing streams of his divine love, and to 
open the mouth of one of us in prayer and supplica- 
tion ; and the Lord was graciously pleased abundantly 
to replenish our spirits, to our mutual comfort, in a 
living sense of divine goodness ; and this our dear 
friend expressed himself in great tenderness and broken- 
ness of spirit on this wise, "I am sensibly comforted 
and refreshed in this visit." 

And that ofternoon, he, fixing his eyes upon me with 
great earnestness of spirit, expressed, as well as he 
could at that time, a great concern that was upon his 
mind for Truth, and the friends of it, in divers particu- 
lars ; especially in relation to our own Monthly and 
Quarterly Meetings, the writings of both which had 
been under his care for more than forty years ; after 
which he was much eased in his spirit, and so continued 
to the last, so far as I perceived ; often saying, w T hen 
asked how he did, " I am easy, I am quiet." And he 
was often very tender in his spirit, expressing his re- 
signation to the will of God, whether in life or death, 
saying, "If the Lord hath no more work for me to do, 
28 



326 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 

I am content and resigned to his will ; and my hearty- 
farewell is to all my brethren." 

And at another time, nearer his end, he said to us 
present, in much brokenness of heart, " I am full of 
joy and peace, my spirit is filled with joy," or to this 
effect ; for by reason that his speech was so weakened, 
several things could not be so well collected, which he 
at times spake, in a tender sense of the Lord's good- 
ness ; the sense of which deeply affected some of us 
who were with him. And my heart is sorrowfully 
affected at this time, in a sense of the great loss which 
the church of Christ (in these parts especially), hath 
by his removal : but in this I am comforted, in a living 
sense of the Lord's mercy and goodness to him, in 
carrying him through his affliction in great patience 
and quietness, under which he was sweetly refreshed 
by the streams of divine love, and his cup was often 
made to overflow ; and we, who were present, being 
touched with a sense thereof, were comforted therein, 
being in a travail of spirit for him, and did in our 
measures truly sympathize with him under his afflic- 
tion. And I am fully satisfied, he laid down his head 
in peace with the Lord, and is gathered to his ever- 
lasting rest. 

He departed this life the first of the third month, 
1718, about the second hour in the morning, in the 
seventy-fourth year of his age. He received the Truth 
in the year 1659, and lived in fellowship with the 
friends of it about fifty-three years : and I think it 
may be truly said of him, that as he lived so he died, 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 397 

the servant of the Lord and his people, and hath left 
a sweet savour behind him, and his memory is blessed 
with the righteous for ever. Amen. 

George Bowles. 

Eighth Month, 1713. 



TESTIMONY FROM THE MONTHLY MEETING 

At Hunger-Hill, the 7th of the Fourth Month, 1713, concern- 
ing our dear and well-beloved Friend and Brother in the 
Truth, Thomas Ellwood, deceased. 

That the dead which die in the Lord are blessed of 
him, we have great assurance from John the divine in 
bis writing to the seven churches, (Rev. xiv. 13,) w^here 
he tells them, that he " heard a voice from heaven, say- 
ing, Write, Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord 
from henceforth. Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may 
rest from their labours, and their works do follow 
them. ,, Of which number, w T e have no cause to doubt 
but this our dear friend is one; who was eminently ser- 
viceable in the church of Christ. A man to whom the 
Lord had given a large capacity beyond many, and fur- 
nished him with an excellent gift; whereby he was 
qualified for those services in the church, in the per- 
formance of which he did shine as a star, which re- 
ceived its lustre and brightness from the glorious Sun 
of Righteousness. He was wise, but humble ; conde- 
scending to the weak, and ready to help where he saw 
and felt sincerity ; but sharp to that wdiich he appre- 



328 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 

hended to be insincere and deceitful; for which cause, 
he was not acceptable to hypocrites and disorderly 
walkers. Yet he was a man of a very acceptable and 
agreeable conversation, as well as sober and religious, 
both in the church and in the world, being of a free 
and affable temper and disposition, far from affectation, 
but of a courteous behaviour and graceful carriage to 
all, and very serviceable to, and amongst his neighbours. 

He was very near and dear to many of us, who were 
most intimately acquainted with him, and his memorial 
is sweet to us. His services in our meetings, and in 
the Quarterly Meeting for the county of Bucks, were 
very great, and of many years' continuance ; in which 
he showed great diligence, being of a ready mind, 
willing to serve the church, according to that ability 
which the Lord had given him ; and his heart and house 
were open to his friends, and the Monthly Meeting was 
kept there more than forty years, and remains there to 
this day. Our loss is great by his removal; but in 
this w T e are satisfied, that it is his everlasting gain, 
being gathered, as we have good cause to believe, to 
his eternal rest. The knowledge we had of him, and 
the good account which we have received of him, in 
the time of his last illness, by those who were most 
constantly with him, and of his quiet and peaceable 
departure, doth sensibly engage our hearts to acquiesce 
in the will of the Lord ; and therein we have peace and 
comfort. 

He departed this life the first of the third month, 
1718, and was honourably buried in Friends' burying- 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 329 

place, at New Jordans, in the parish of Giles Chalfont, 
in the county of Bucks, the fourth day of the same 
month. 

Signed, by the appointment of the Monthly Meet- 
ing, by us : — 

George Bowles, Daniel Roberts, 

William Grimsdall, Abraham Barber, 

James Smith, Thomas Olliffe. 
Daniel Wharley, 



TESTIMONY FROM THE WOMEN'S MEETING, 

CONCERNING THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

A CONCERN is upon our spirits to write somewhat 
concerning our dear deceased friend and elder, Thomas 
Ellwood, who was highly valued by us for that wisdom 
and counsel which were with him ; and being of a free 
and affable temper, ready to assist those who stood in 
need thereof, encouraged many to apply to him for 
advice, under the divers circumstances and various 
exercises which this uncertain world affords ; which we 
have found to be for our good, as we followed it. He 
was an early comer to meetings, seldom hindered by 
weather (though he lived three miles distant) when 
bodily weakness did not hinder, of late years being oft 
indisposed as to his health. The Monthly Meeting 
28* 



330 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713 

was held at his house about forty years, and he always 
looked very kind and courteous on Friends when they 
came there, and took care and notice of the meanest, 
who came in sincerity. He was zealous for good 
order, and against such, who, being in an apostatized 
spirit, opposed it ; and may well be numbered amongst 
the worthies, whose names are upon record for their 
valour ; so is this our friend worthy to be, who never 
turned his back on such who opposed the Truth ; but 
stood his ground, as his printed sheets on such occa- 
sions do show. As also his other works, of several 
kinds, do manifest how great endowments God had 
bestowed on him, (yet we, who knew him in his conver- 
sation, are engaged to set forth how kind and conde- 
scending he was to the weakest capacity, and would 
help out when they wanted a word,) that generations 
to come may learn how good it is to forsake all, and 
follow Christ Jesus, as this our friend did, and the 
account of his life shows ; who not only gives wisdom, 
but teacheth humility also. 

He was greatly respected by his neighbours, for his 
services amongst them ; his heart and doors were open 
to the poor, both sick and lame, who wanted help, and 
had it freely, taking care to provide things useful for 
such occasions, (blessed also with good success,) often 
saying, he mattered not what cost he was at, to do 
good. Such lament their loss ; what then may we do, 
who miss him in a higher station, in his great service 
in the church of Christ ? but even desire to be re- 
signed to the will of the Lord, who preserved him 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 331 

through all his hardships, to a dominion over false 
brethren, and is now out of their reach, and out of 
temptation too ; on whose head the blessing asked for 
Joseph rests, who, as a fruitful bough, his branch 
spreads over the wall of opposition, and his bow abode 
in strength ; the hands of whose arms were made strong 
by the help of the mighty God of Jacob, to whom be 
the glory for what he hath wrought in our day, whose 
own works praise him for evermore. And the tears 
of sorrow that we shed for the loss of this our deceased 
friend, let them be remembered to bow our spirits, each 
of us, into a godly care, that we may come up, accord- 
ing to our several capacities, to follow the Lord faith- 
fully, in a godly zeal for his honour ; and so come to 
lay down our heads in joy and peace, as this our friend 
expressed he did. 

This eminent servant of Christ was early convinced 
of the way of Truth, wherein he continued to the 
finishing of his days ; for the sake of which he soon 
became a sufferer, not only by imprisonment, for wor- 
shipping God in the assemblies of his people, but also 
from his father, by whom he was made as an outcast, 
for no other cause but for his faithful testimony in 
taking up the cross to the world's behaviour and 
language; whereupon he was invited by his much 
valued friend, Isaac Penington, to his house, w 7 here 
he abode several years, until he married. He was a 
blessing in, as well as a great comfort and help to 
that family ; and by his wise conduct therein, gained 
much esteem, not only from the elders, but the youth, 



332 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713 

whom he instructed in learning ; and though most 
of them are by death removed, yet one still remains, 
who, from certain and experimental knowledge, can 
commemorate his worth, being engaged thereto from a 
sense of the benefit of his good and wholeseme advice, 
given at sundry times and on divers occasions, which 
friendship continued firm to the last. 

His natural capacity was large, and his understand- 
ing in the things of God very deep ; which excellent 
qualifications meeting in one, rendered him useful 
beyond many to his country, as well as very service- 
able in the church ; by both which he is and will be 
greatly missed. But he is gone to his grave in a full 
age, and gathered as a shock of corn in its season, 
having done his day's work faithfully : so that saying 
may be verified in him, "The end crowns all." 

His sickness was sudden, which soon deprived him 
of the use of his limbs ; yet he retained the faculties 
of his inward and outward senses clear all along ; and 
notwithstanding at times his pains were great, his 
exemplary patience and resignation w T ere remarkably 
apparent to those that visited and attended him ; so 
that their sorrow, in parting with so dear a friend, was 
intermixed with comfort in beholding the heavenly 
frame of mind wherewith he was adorned. 

Thus, after all his labours, he entered into everlast- 
ing rest, and left many behind weeping, though not 
without hope that they shall again meet at the general 
assembly of saints, where the redeemed shall sing 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. 333 

praises to their blessed Redeemer, whose right it is to 
reign for ever. 

We have this farther to add, namely ; that our esteem 
of him was great, because of that real worth that was 
in him, through the operation of the mighty power of 
the Lord that separated him from the love of the world ; 
so that he chose (with Moses) rather to suffer affliction 
with the people of God, than to enjoy the pleasures of 
sin for a season ; and it pleased the Lord to fit him with 
wisdom and counsel, so that he w T as made able to give 
judgment in difficult cases, wherein many of us have 
particularly received benefit, and therefore have cause 
to lament the loss we have by his removal. And oh ! 
say our souls, that the Lord would raise up many more 
in his room, to the praise and honour of the good Hus- 
bandman. And it is our desire that we, who are yet 
behind, may be made able so to steer our course through 
this troublesome world, that when our end comes, we 
may lay down our heads in peace with the Lord, and 
leave a good savour behind us, as this our friend hath 
done. 

This is written in true love and respect to the memory 
of our deceased friend, as it pleased the Lord to move 
upon our hearts : and being read and approved in our 
Women's Meeting at Hunger-hill, the fourth of the 
eleventh month, 1713, was subscribed in behalf of the 
said Meeting, by us : — 

Mary Baker, 
Mary Wharley, 
Mary Larcum. 



334 TI1E HISTORY OF THE £1713. 



ELIZABETH RICHARDSON'S TESTIMONY 

Concerning our dear friend Thomas Ellwood, of Hunger-hill. 

He was much esteemed amongst good men: good 
men, in their day and station upon the earth, represent 
Him who made all things good in the beginning, who 
said, (Gen. i. 3,) " Let there be light, and there was 
light." And also said, (verse 26,) u Let us make man 
in our image, after our likeness." Oh, high favour! 
" So God created man in his own image, in the image 
of God created he him ; male and female created he 
them," (verse 27,) and blessed them, and gave them 
dominion under himself; for he was chief commander 
then ; and so he is witnessed to be now, where his 
heavenly image is come into again, and men live in it, 
as did this our dear friend, who did good in his day 
and generation. Counsel was w T ith him, to give to such 
as needed, and did apply to him : he was of a tender 
spirit, and had dominion over passion, over pride, and 
over covetousness : so he was comfortable to, and in 
his family. He w T as amiable in the church of Christ, 
and a doer of good amongst his neighbours. And 
being an elder amongst, and with the elders, he hath 
not only obtained a good report, but also the blessing 
in the promised Seed, which bruises the Serpent's head. 
He was valiant in suffering for his testimony, which he 
held in the Truth ; and, may not I say, unwearied in 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 335 

his labours for the setting forth the same and excel- 
lency of it; whereby we see what the Truth, makes 
men to be, who do come under the conduct and power 
of it ; even as fixed stars in the firmament of his divine 
power, who has caused the morning of his heavenly 
and glorious gospel day to break forth ; and as with 
the day that springs from on high, in tender mercy 
hath he visited many souls. And early did this our 
worthy deceased friend embrace it, as it appears by his 
testimony concerning that eminent and blessed mes- 
senger and minister of the gospel, George Fox. 

And now, he having endured the tim^ of proving, 
and the days of tribulation and suffering, together with 
the perils and slights, and under valuings, of false 
brethren, against whose ungodly work he was engaged 
to stand as a noble warrior, in the defence of, and for 
the glorious gospel of Christ : not admiring men's per- 
sons, but the work of the gospel power. And although 
he was endowed with parts and accomplishments above 
many, he was humble and grave ; not self-seeking, but 
esteeming the power of Truth, though it did appear 
through mean instruments. He was honourable, and 
honoured, for that he sought not his own honour, but 
the honour of Truth, not only by his sufferings for it 
and labours in it, but also in standing firmly against 
the loose libertine ones, who would have thrust in 
amongst the lambs and flock of Christ, in an unclean 
adulterating spirit, from the life of the true Shepherd, 
and Heavenly Husband, Christ Jesus : but to the 
tender-hearted, and sincere-minded, he was strengthen- 



336 THE HISTORY OF THE [1713. 

ing and comfortable. I knew him when I was but 
young, and I can truly say, my heart has often been 
affected, on his behalf, with thankfulness to the Lord, 
who made him as a strong pillar in his spiritual house, 
with many more of his dear servants and children, w T ho 
shall no more go out. His memory is in my heart es- 
teemed beyond what I can write. Oh ! surely " The 
righteous shall be had in everlasting remembrance," 
(Psalm cxii. 6.) "And they that be wise, shall shine 
as the brightness of the firmament: and they that turn 
many to righteousness, as the stars for ever and ever." 
(Daniel xii. 3t) 

Elizabeth Richardson. 



Hunger-Hill, 
5th of Seventh Month, 1713, 



1713.] LIFE OF THOMAS ELL WOOD. 337 



TESTIMONY OF RICHAKD VIVERS 

CONCERNING THOMAS ELLWOOD. 

He was a man of great wisdom and understanding ; 
and the Lord, the giver of it, being pleased to visit him 
in his early days, made choice of him, and by the sanc- 
tification of his Holy Spirit, fitted and prepared him 
for his work and service, whereunto he was called. And 
although he did not often appear as a minister, yet in 
those meetings set apart for the affairs of Truth, he 
often appeared in great wisdom, having an extraordi- 
nary talent given of the Lord for that work, more than 
many other brethren ; and faithful he was in waiting 
for instruction from God, to improve the same to his 
glory, and the church's advantage. For nothing was 
more desirable to him, than to be employed in the 
Lord's service ; so it pleased the Almighty to furnish 
him with understanding and strength, faithfully to do 
his day's work. And now he hath taken him to himself, 
where his soul is at rest ; and although our loss be his 
gain, therein I, with many more, am greatly comforted, 
for I can truly say I loved him in the Truth, from the 
first of my acquaintance with him, and so it remained 
to the end of his course, being nearly forty years since 
we knew each other ; and whenever we conversed to- 
gether, our discourse was chiefly concerning heavenly 
things, and the affairs of the church : and I always 
thought my time well spent with him, although oppor- 
29 



338 LIFE OF THOMAS ELLWOOD. [1713 

tunity would not serve for so much of it as I desired, 
had it been the will of God. 

And this I can say, according to my observation, he 
was a man true to his friend, and deliberate in the 
choice of his acquaintance, to whom he showed real 
love and sincerity of heart. And he was one of a steady 
and sound judgment, as to the things of God ; often 
desiring that those who came amongst us, especially 
children of believing parents, might not settle down 
only in a form of godliness, without the power, (at 
which door the apostacy entered,) but that they might 
be raised up to walk in that, wherein the saints' fellow- 
ship doth stand, which is the Light of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, enlightening every man that cometh into the 
world : and then the ancient testimony of Truth will be 
more and more raised up in their hearts, and they being 
preserved of the Lord in it, it will more be maintained 
in its several branches, as in former days. Blessed be 
the name of the Lord, who hath a people in these latter 
ages of the world, to whom he hath given power to 
stand for his Truth, whilst on earth, and to be tender 
of the honour of his name ; of the number of whom 
this our deceased friend and brother was; who, although 
dead, yet his memory liveth, and will be preserved 
amongst the righteous in generations yet to come. 

Richard Vivers. 

Banbury, 
30th of the 11th month, 1714. 



INDEX 



A. 

Act, Conventicle, provisions of the Page 208 

Archdale, Matthew, breaks up a meeting at I. Penington's... 106 

Aeis, Richard, character of, turns Informer , 215 

Ayrs, William, presents T. Ellwood's " Caution to Constables" 

to Sir B. Tichborn, and thereby gets him into trouble, 238 
accompanies T. Ellwood to the Justices 240 

B. 

Bache, Humphrey, meeting at the house of 75 

Baptists, bickering between some, and some Friends 207 

injustice of some of the Teachers of, towards Friends!.. 227 

many join Friends , 281 

Benett Ambrose, shamefully abuses Friends at a funeral, and 

throws the corpse into the road 174 

breaks up a meeting of Friends 182 

seuds T. Ellwood and W. Watkins to prison 183 

Birch, Nathan, cruelty of to some Friends, his prisoners 176 

behaviour of, towards T. Ellwood and others 177 

Bishops, The, having obtained the Conventicle Act, set vile men 

at work as Informers 210 

Boyen, Sir William, Friends brought before 106 

course pursued by, towards Friends 107-110 

interview of, with T. Ellwood 108 

Bradley, Richard, teacher of I. Penington's children 184 

Brown, Sir Richard, releases some Friends from Bridewell.... 136 
sends a poor Friend to Bridewell to beat hemp for working 

on First-day , 140 

orders blocks prepared in Bridewell for the Quakers to 
beat hemp on — is disappointed 157 

Burrough, Edward, speaks effectually at the first meeting of 
Friends attended by T. Ellwood — speaks in the family 
of I. Penington, his doctrine objected to by W. Ellwood, 22 

(339) 



340 INDEX. 

Burrough, Edward, opinion of, respecting W. Ellwood and his 

daughter and son 23 

a prisoner in Newgate 161 

dies in prison ,.»„ .-. 165 

C 

Charles II. King, declaration of, from Breda 78 

Chinner, a Friend speaks in the church at 20 

Clark, Esquire, loose character of — T. Ellwood brought before 81 

declares he would kill all the Quakers in England, had 

he the power 95 

with his daughter, makes game of T. Ellwood ,. 97 

Cayton, Thomas Sir, unites with Justice Benett in sending 

some Friends to prison who were at a funeral 175 

fines T. Zachary, on the oath of a perjured Informer 216 

abuses T. Zachary, and commits him to prison for not 

giving surety „ 217 

anger of, at the punishment of Informers — tenders the 
oath of allegiance to T. Zachary, and keeps him in 
prison , 222 

Coal, Benjamin, publishes " Honesty the truest policy" against 

GL Keith , 300 

Curtis, Thomas, with J. Nailer, at the Grove meeting 22 

Curtis, Anne, met by T. Ellwood at I. Penington's 42 

D. 

Dell, Thomas, struck by Justice Benett, while carrying the 

coffin of a Friend — the coffin thrown into the road.... 175 

Dell. Anne, harbours two Informers 214 

Dove, a young man of the name of, escapes from the Bull and 

Mouth Meeting 126 



Ellis, Mary, becomes the wife of T. Ellwood 200 

Ellwood, Thomas, motives for writing the journal of — birth of.. 8 
carried to London when two years old — playfellow with 

Guli Springett 9 

sent to school at Thame — conduct of, while at school... 10-11 
effect of not being kept at study — course of life in early 

youth 12 

frequently visits Lord Wenman 13 

adventure of, with a quarrelsome husbandman 14 

gratitude of, for being preserved from taking human life — 

death of the mother of 17 



INDEX. 341 

Ellwood, Thomas, death of the brother of — accompanies his 

father in a visit to I. Penington's at Chalfont 18 

impressions made on, by finding that they had become 

Quakers 19 

speaks favourably to his father of a Friend arrested at 

Chinner , 20 

with his sisters accompanies his father the second time 

to I. Penington's — first attends a Friend's meeting... 21 

effect produced upon, by the preaching of E. Burrough 22 

E. Burrough's sense of the state of , 23 

attends [church] for the last time 24 

goes to a Friend's meeting at Wycombe — helped by 

the ministry of S. Thornton 25 

effect upon, by the operation of the Light in his heart, 26-27 
obliged to give up unnecessary trimmings, to omit using 

flattering titles, and to use the plain language 29-30 

deceived into supposing he might retain his usual 

manners and address to his father 30 

betrayed into unauthorized religious performances 31-32 

brought to see his delusion — sent to Oxford session by 

his father — close trial 33 

meets E. Burrough on his way, but they do not 

recognise each other 35 

meets several of his old acquaintances at Oxford — 
maintains his principles, and acknowledges himself 

a Quaker 35-36 

treated civilly by the Clerk — through fear of falling, 

avoids the cross in leaving the town 37 

interrogated by his father as to his motives for visiting 

I. Penington 40 

replies to some of his father's charges against the 

Quakers 41 

goes to I. Penington's, and attends a meeting — judi- 
cious care of I. Penington and his wife toward 42 

attends meeting at Wycombe, and is confirmed in the 

course he had adopted 44 

finds he must adopt the carriage of a Quaker towards 

his father 46 

first instance of his doing so 47 

wishing to go to Oxford to attend meeting, he is for- 
bidden by his father, who beats him, and takes away 

his hat 48-49 

walks to Wycombe — reflections of, respecting parental 

authority 50 

desires a sign for his confirmation, which is granted... 51 

grief of the father of, at his absence from home 52 

again beaten by his father for keeping on his hat 54 

29* 



342 INDEX. 

Ellwood, Thomas, reflections of, on hat honour 55 

being kept without a hat, takes a bad cold — repeat- 
edly beaten by his father for using thou and thee 
to him *. 56 

reply of, to his father when threatening to " knock his 

teeth down his throat" 57 

again beaten, for a few words said to his father when 
called to family prayer — the servant and sister 
interfere on behalf of 59 

I. and M. Penington visit the father of, and plead with 

him on behalf of „ 61 

goes home with I. and M. Penington 62 

taken up by the watchman while travelling on the 
first-day of the week — carried before the warden, 
who examines him 63-64 

astonishes the warden by telling him he had no money, 
and that the horse he rode, and the coat he wore, 
were not his own 65 

denies the obligation of the commandment respecting 

keeping the Sabbath 67 

is discharged 68 

restrained from carrying away a scabbard which he 
found lying in the road, and his leaving it, proved a 
protection to him — manifold kindness towards, by 
I. Penington and wife 70 

returns home — ordered by his father to eat out of his 

presence, because of his keeping his hat on 71 

kindness towards, of his sister — attends the meeting 

in Meadle 72 

attends the meeting in Bledloe — growth of, in the 

knowledge of the Truth 73 

great exercise of, on account of the deceit and covet- 

ousness of the priests 74 

writes and publishes "An Alarm to the Priests" 75 

escapes abuse when attending a meeting in London, 
because he was supposed not to be a Quaker — meets 
Thos. Loe at I. Penington's 76 

offers to procure T. Loe a meeting in his neighbour- 
hood — writes to him about it — letter of, intercepted 
and carried to Lord Faulkland 77 

taken away from home by a troop of horse — refuses 

to inform against his neighbours 80 

carried before Squires Clark and Knowls 81 

the hat of, snatched from off his head by a young 

priest — examined and threatened by tlic magistrates, 82 

tendered the oath of allegiance 83 

gent to Oxford under charge of a trou^ci 85 



INDEX. 343 

Ellwood, Thomas, his father's servant offers to rescue him 86 

committed a prisoner to the city marshal 87 

letter from T. Loe, to 88 

letter from I. Penington, to 90 

obtains permission to visit the Friend prisoners in Oxford 

castle, and goes 92 

released from custody 93 

attempts to visit a Friend in Oxford, but is stopped by the 

soldiers 94 

sets off for home under the escort of the marshal of 

Oxford 95 

unbecoming treatment of, at Esquire Clark's 97 

detects the scheme of his father and the marshal to keep 

him from meeting 98 

gets out from the house, when his father wished to keep 

him from meeting 99 

race between, and his father 100 

father and sisters of, leave home and go to London to live, 100 
visits I. Penington in Aylesbury jail, where he meets I. 

Whitehead and over sixty other Friends 101 

accompanies R. Greenaway oh a visit to some meetings — 

goes to the house of John Ovy ,,... 102 

takes J. Ovy with him on a visit to I. Penington 103 

arrested at a meeting at I. Penington's 106 

with others carried before Sir W. Boyen 106 

treatment of, by Sir W. Boyen 107-110 

meets with his father, when on a visit to I. Penington... 113 

on his way home arrested at Beaconsfield 114 

kindly treated by the constable's wife 115 

carried to the town-house — meets Mother Grime — debate 

how to dispose of 116-117 

threatened with the ''Spiritual Court" 118 

discharged — returns home — attacked with small-pox — 

sight of, affected 119 

goes to I. Penington's 120 

efforts of, to acquire learning — brought to the acquaint- 
ance of J. Milton by Dr. Paget 121 

sells the cattle, &c, for his father — lives alone 122 

goes to London, and engages in reading to Milton — in- 
structed by Milton in the pronunciation of Latin 123 

improvement of, in his studies 124 

obliged to leave London on account of health — sickness 

at J. Raunee's — recovery, and return to London 125 

arrest of, at meeting at Bull and Mouth 127 

marched to Old Bridewell — pushed in, and with thirty- 
two more confined in a large room up stairs — descrip- 
tion by, of the rooms in Bridewell 129-131 



344 INDEX. 

Kilwood, Thomas, low state of the finances of, when sent to 
Bridewell — full trust of, in Divine Providence — declines 
the invitation to partake of the food provided by 

Friends 133 

dines and sups on a half-penny roll , 134 

lodges on some rushes on the floor of the prison 135 

unexpectedly supplied with a bed — on account of poverty 

declines joining in a mess with his friends 136 

unexpectedly supplied with money by W. Penington, Mary 

Penington, and his Father 137 

joins in the Friends' mess, 138 

employs himself as a tailor — badly paid by his employer, 139 
kindness of, to a poor Friend who had been badly beaten 

in Bridewell 141 

brought before the Sessions at Old Bailey 142 

objects to the Court tendering the oath to him while a 

prisoner « 144 

refusing to swear, is committed to Newgate 145 

manner of lodging there ► 146 

relation by, of the manner in which a Coroner's jury dis- 
covered the cruel treatment of Friends in Newgate, 148-149 
with other Friends transferred, through the kindness of 

Sir W. Turner, from Newgate to Bridewell 150 

applies to Sir William, to rid Friends of an impostor who 

was imposing himself on them 151 

description by, of Newgate as he witnessed it while 

prisoner there 153-156 

the thieves' plan for picking the pocket of 154 

account by, of the shocking treatment of the remains of 

three executed plotters 155 

with the other Friends, goes from Newgate to Bridewell 

without a keeper 156 

religious exercises of, while in Bridewell, preparing a 

Hymn to God « ... 158 

obtains leave from the jailor to visit his friends in New- 
gate — with the other Friend prisoners discharged — 

visits W. Penington, Milton, and I. Penington 162 

returns money loaned him by M. Penington 163 

becomes teacher to I. Penington's children — grief of, at 

the death of E. Burrough 165 

writes a "pathetic elegy" on the death of E. Burrough.. 166 
returns to W. Penington the money he had furnished him 

in Bridewelll 167 

description by, of Guli Springett's conduct towards her 

suitors 167 

suspicions entertained respecting the designs of, on Guli 
Springett 168-169 



INDEX. 345 

Ellwood, Thomas, mention of severe verses written by 170 

receives and sells some of his father's goods — joins his 

father in the sale of his property 171 

"Conformity Prest and Represt" by 172 

committed to Aylesbury jail with other Friends 175 

with the other Friends, refuses to hire rooms of the jailor, 176 

discharged from jail 178 

hires a residence for Milton at Giles Chalfont — at Milton's 

request examines -'Paradise Lost," in manuscript 179 

suggests to Milton to write Paradise Regained 180 

goes to a meeting at G. Salter's, and is arrested, and with 

Morgan Watkins sent to jail 181-183 

detained twelve weeks — brought before the justice, and 
committed again for refusing to find sureties — dis- 
charged by Earl of Ancram 181 

verses written by. while in prison 185 

account by, of his being taken with the error of J. 

Perrot 187-188 

acknowledgment by, and condemnation of his error at the 

great meeting appointed in London 188 

with Guli Springett travels into the north of England, 

meets with and accompanies G. Fox 189 

silences a troublesome man in Dorsetshire, who was con- 
tending for J. Perrot's error , 190 

views of, concerning marriage — proceedings of, in rela- 
tion to marriage with Mary Ellis 192-193 

journey of, into Kent and Sussex with Guli Springett 195 

encounter of, with one of the Duke of York's retainers, 

who insults Guli on the road- 196-199 

returns home — marriage of 200 

care of, to secure the estate to his wife 201 

makes another excursion into Kent and Sussex 201 

grief of, on account of his father's conduct — "A Song 

of Praise" by 203 

receives information of the loss overboard of I. Pening- 

ton's son Isaac 205 

great sorrow of, at the death of I. Penington, jr 206 

undertakes the prosecution of two informers who had 

perjured themselves 218 

carries the case forward, and obtains judgment against 

them 220-221 

writes "A Fresh Pursuit" against the Baptists 229 

answers T. Plant by " Forgery no Christianity" 230 

answers "A Friendly Conference, &c," by " Truth Pre- 
vailing, &c," 232 

character of the work S. 254 



346 INDEX. 

Ellwood, Thomas, answers the anonymous "Right of Tithes 

by "The Foundation of Tithes Shaken" 233 

character of, and example of S. 255 

prepares an answer to "Right of Tithes Reasserted' 7 — 

extract from 257-261 

is one of the Friends who accept the challenge of W. 

Rogers — meets him and refutes him 235 

obtains from G. Fox a copy of W. Roger's book, and 

answers it by "An Antidote, &c." 235 

further account of the "Antidote" 261 

publishes "A Caution to Constables" 237 

further notice of the "Caution" 261 

summoned before Justices Tichborn and Fotherly 238 

great strait of, being sent for Guli Penn, who was sick, 

and being engaged to appear before two Justices at the 

same time ,... 239 

goes to the Justices — interview between them singly and 

together 240-248 

visits Guli Penn and returns 249 

reasons given by, why he did not finish and publish his 

reply to "Right of Tithes Reasserted" 257 

publishes "A Discourse concerning Riots" — extract from 

the preface — character of the work 263-264 

publishes "Seasonable Dissuasive from Persecution" — 

extracts therefrom 264-267 

applied to by W. Tournay for his opinion on certain Acts 

of Queen Elizabeth — replies thereto 267 

writes a reply in verse to W. Roger's attack on George 

Whitehead — reasons why in verse — writes "An Epistle 

to Friends." 1686 268 

Epistle of, to Friends 269-281 

begins the Davideis 281 

publishes a reply to J. Raunce and C. Harris — extracts 

from it 282 

publishes a reply to an answer to a book by VV. Penn on 

Spiritual Liberty, put forth by J. Hogg 283 

character of W. Penn's work, and T. Ellwood's reply to 

the attack made on it 283-285 

answers Leonard Key 285 

publishes an Examination of " Observations and Reflec- 
tions, &c," by J. Raunce and L. Key 286 

prepares G Fox's Journal for the press 287 

epistle of, to Friends, in reference to G. Keith 288-292 

lays the epistle before the Second-day's morning meeting, 292 
puts forth another work against G. Keith — extract 

from 293-294 



INDEX. 347 

Ellwood, Thomas, publishes "Truth Defended," another reply 

to two of G. Keith's attacks 295 

prepares remarks on G. Creese's History of the Quakers.. 296 
answers G. Keith's "Narrative of his Proceedings" — 
writes "A Sober Reply to two Petitions against Quakers" 298 

answers T. Shocklin on the subject of water baptism 300 

publishes first part of his "Sacred History" 301 

corresponds with W. Sewell 304 

publishes " The Glorious Brightness of the Gospel 

Day, &c," against ceremonies and ordinances 305 

prosecuted for tithes, and with some other Friends heavily 

fined — account of 305-308 

publishes second part of "Sacred History" 308 

account of it 309-311 

prepares for the press account of the Life of Oliver Sansom, 312 

publishes the " Davideis" 313 

short account of the last sickness of, and some of the last 

expressions of, by G. Bowles 324-326 

Ellwood, Walter, the name and estate of, inherited from his 

grandfather — returns from London to Crowell 9 

appointed a Justice of the Peace 11 

adventure of. with a quarrelsome husbandman, on his 

way from Watlington , 13-16 

deals leniently with a Friend brought before him 21 

visits I. Penington the second time at Peter's Chalfont — 

objects to the doctrine preached by E. Burrough 22 

disputes with J. Nailor 23 

speaks disparagingly of the Quakers 40 

falls upon his son with his fists for keeping his hat on.... 49 

again beats his son for the same 54 

threatens to "knock his son's teeth down his throat," 

for saying thou and thee , 56 

beats his son, at the time when he called the family to 

prayer 59 

visited by I. and M. Penington, who plead with him on 

behalf of his son 61 

orders his son not to eat in his presence 71 

with the marshal of Oxford, tries to ensnare his son, 

and prevent his going to meeting 97 

pursues his son to stop his going to meeting 99 

with his daughter goes to London to live 100 

sends money to his son in Bridewell 138 

refuses to perform his promise to his son and wife, under 

plea of their not being married by a priest 202 

F. 

Faulkland, Lord, sends T. Loe and other Friends prisoners to 

Oxford jail — orders the arrest of T. Ellwood... 79 



348 INDEX. 

Fifth Monarchy Men, insurrection of the 78 

Fotijerly, Thomas, interview of T. Ellwood with 240-246 

Fox, George, the younger, expression of, respecting T. Ell- 
wood's "Alarm to the Priests" , 75 

Fox, George, travels through the country, setting up meetings 

for Discipline 189 

Friend, a poor, shamefully beaten in Bridewell 141 

Friends, many committed to prison as rioters, merely for sitting 

in their meetings , ♦ . 250 

G. 

Galloway, marshal of Oxford, has T. Ellwood a prisoner at 

his house 87 

Gigger, John, servant of Guli Springett, accompanies her and 

T. Ellwood into Sussex 196 

Gray, Walter, the daughter of, grandmother of T. Ellwood.... 9 

Greenaway, Richard, with T. Ellwood, visits meeting in Ox- 
fordshire and Berkshire — visits J. Ovy, and has a 
meeting at his house , 102 

Grime, Mother, testimony of, concerning T. Ellwood's family... 117 

H. 

Hampson, Sir Dennis, breaks into a Friends' meeting, and sends 

twenty-three to prison as rioters 251 

Hicks, Thomas, misrepresents Friends in "A Dialogue between 

a Christian and a Quaker" 226 

refuses to attend the appointed meeting to -clear himself. 229 

HOwell, John, controversy with, by T. Ellwood, respecting 

taking the oath of allegiance 144 

Hvmn to God, by T. Ellwood 158 

I. 

Informers, character of , 210 

one of the, seeks to pass himself off on a Friend — is 
repulsed — goes to an inn — gets drunk, and betrays 
his employers 211-212 

ingratiates himself with a Baptist — informs against him, 
and has him tried for treason 212 

two prosecuted by T. Ellwood for perjury — found guilty, 
and obliged to secrete themselves 219-221 

Ives, Jeremy, disputes with W. Penn 207 

character of, by T. Ellwood i 231 



INDEX. 349 

J. 

Jury, Coroner's, manner of obtaining a, at Newgate 147 

a determined foreman of a, discovers the manner in 
which Friends were treated at Newgate, and makes 

report thereof 148- 149 

K. 

Keith, Geokge, falls out with Friends — appears before the 

Yearly Meeting in London — runs into controversy, 287-288 

writes against T. Ellwood * 292 

publishes two books, containing false charges against 

Friends 295 

erects a stage at Turner's-hall, where he opposes Friends, 297 

Key, Leonard, puts forth a sheet against Friends 285 

with J. Raunce, publishes "Observations and Reflec- 
tions, &c," against Friends 280 

Knowls, Esquire, T. Ellwood brought before 81 

corrects a young priest who had snatched T. Ellwood's 
cap off his head 82 

L. 

Lacy, Ralph, snrnamed the cow-stealer, an Informer — makes 

attempt on Friends in Chalfont 214 

Lamrarn, Sarah, obtains provision for Friends in Aylesbury 

jail 177 

Loe, Thomas, authorizes T. Ellwood to write to him respecting 

a meeting in his neighbourhood 77 

letter of, to T. Ellwood — wife of, visits T. Ellwood when 
brought prisoner to Oxford , 88 

Luff (or Love), John, accompanies J. Perrot to Rome, and 

dies there 18G 

M. 

Merrick, Anne, with Anne Travers, supplies Friends in Bride- 
well with what they need 132 

Maw, Doctor, vice-chancellor of Oxford, sends out an Informer, 212 

Milton, John, notice of, by T. Ellwood 121 

instructs T. Ellwood in the Latin 123 

requests T. Ellwood to read the manuscript of " Paradise 

Lost" 179 

writes "Paradise Regained" at the suggestion of T. 

Ellwood 180 

Minister, Episcopal, an, puts forth a book against Friends, 

entitled, "A Friendly Conference, &c." 232 

Morton, Justice, grants a protection to an. Informer 212 

30 



350 INDEX. 

N. 

Nailer, James, disputes with W. Ellwood at I. Penington's 23 

Newgate, T. Ellwood committed to 145 

crowded condition of — manner of Friends lodging in.... 146 
description of, by T. Ellwood 153-156 

Norton, Silas, wife of, visits T. Ellwood when brought prisoner 

to Oxford 88 

0. 

Ovt, John, a meeting held at the house of 102 

some account of 103 

accompanies T. Ellwood to I. Penington's 104 

escapes and hides himself when a meeting at I. Pening- 
ton's was broken up 105-106 

distress of, on account of his cowardice 111-112 

P. 

Paget, Doctor, introduces T. Ellwood to Milton 121 

Parker, Judith, accompanies Guli Springett to a Friends' meet- 
ing, and is arrested 182 

so reasons with the justice, that he strikes off her name, 183 
Penington, Isaac, gravity of the family of, after they had 

become Friends 18 

letter from, to T. Ellwood 90 

monthly meeting held in the house of 101 

meeting at the house of, broken up, and he and others 

arrested 106 

has T. Ellwood introduced to Milton 121 

detained prisoner in Aylesbury jail three quarters of a 

year, and his family broken up . ... 180 

Penington, Isaac, Jr., account of the loss of, at sea.. 205 

Penington, Mary, sends money to T. Ellwood in prison 137 

Penington, Mary, daughter of Isaac, marries D. Wharley 163 

Penington, William, arrest of, at a meeting at his brother's, 

I. Penington 106 

supplies T. Ellwood with money while in prison 137 

Penn, William, disputes with Jeremy Ives 207 

answers T. Hicks in two books — with G. Whitehead, 

appeals to the Baptists against T. Hicks 227 

demands a public meeting with the Baptists 228 

two books written against, by G. Keith 299 

Penn, Guli, sends for T. Ellwood when sick 239 

Perot, Edward, shameful treatment of the remains of, at the 

time of his funeral 174-175 



INDEX. 351 

Perrot, John, some account of, and of his error 186-187 

Petitions, against Friends, promoted by some priests 298 

Philips, Parson, abets the Informers in their attempts on 

Friends - 214 

Plant, Thomas, publishes "A Contest for Christianity" 230 

Potman, Elizabeth, married to Walter Ellwood 8 

Poulter, John, (the Trepan) an Informer and a thief 213 

violence of, obliged to leave the country 215 

Priests, some, of Durham, challenge Friends to dispute, which 

is accepted, and they answered 298 

Prisons, Friends sent to the, in London looked after by persons 

appointed for that service 132 

Q. 

Quakers, faithfulness of the, under the persecution raised 

through the ''Conventicle Act" 224-225 

ill-will of some of the Baptist Teachers, towards 226 

R. 

Raunce, John, meeting held at the house of 25 

accompanies T. Ellwood home, having a concern to speak 

to his father 53 

T. Ellwood sick at the house of 125 

with C. Harris, writes against Friends 282 

with L. Key, publishes " Reflections and Observations," 
against Friends 286 

Raunce, Frances, kindness of. towards T. Ellwood 51 

Rogers, William, character of — publishes "The Christian 

Quaker Distinguished, &c." 234 

goes up to London — challenges Friends — is met and 

refuted 235 

Rosewell, Major, breaks up the meeting at the "Bull and 

Mouth" — sends Friends to prison 126-129 



Salter, George, meeting held at the house of, broken up 181 

Saunders, Thomas, and Damaris, meeting held at the house of, 73 

Shocklin, John, sets up for a disputant on water baptism 300 

Springett, Gulielma, early acquaintance of T. Ellwood with.. 9 

grave carriage of, after she became a Friend 19 

met by T. Ellwood, when recovering from the small-pox. 143 
outrageous conduct towards, by some servants of the 
Duke of York 195-199 



352 INDEX. 

Springett, Harvey, resents the abuse of Guli by the servants 

of the Duke of York 20C 

Springett, Lady, widow of Sir William, marries I. Penington, 9 

Stevens, Jeremiah, monthly meeting held at the house of 44 

Storer, John, dissensions produced by 234 

T. 

Thornton, Samuel, ministry of, beneficial to T. Ellwood 25 

Tichborn, Sir Benjamin, T. Ellwood summoned before, for 

writing "A Caution to Constables, &c." 238 

interview between, and T. Ellwood 245-248 

Tourney, William, applies to T. Ellwood for his judgment on 

certain Acts of Queen Elizabeth..., 267 

Travers, Anne, takes care for Friends in Bridewell 132 

Trepan, an Informer, called Red-head 213 

Turner, Sir William, allows part of Friend prisoners at New- 
gate to go to Bridewell 150 

punishes an impostor who imposed himself on Friends 
at Newgate 152 

V. 

Venner, chief of " The Fifth Monarchy Men" 78 

W. 

AY atkins, Morgan, attends the funeral of E. Perot 173 

arrested at a meeting, and with T. Ellwood, sent to jail.. 183 
brought before a justice, and recommitted — discharged 
by the Earl of Ancram 184 

Wenman, Lord, sponsor for T. Ellwood — kindness of, to T. 

Ellwood 13 

Wharley, Daniel, marries I. Penington's danghter, Mary 163 

Whitehead, George, arrested at a meeting at I. Penington's, 

and carried before Sir W. Boyer 106 

treatment of, by Sir W. Boyer 109-110 

Whitehead, John, imprisoned at Aylesbury 101 

White, John, meeting held at the house of 72 

Wilkinson, John, produces discord among Friends 234 

y. 

York, Duke of, insults from the retainers of, put upon Guli 

Springett and T. Ellwood 196-199 



INDEX. 353 



z, 



Zachart, Thomas, fined for alleged attendance at a meeting 

from which he was twenty miles distant 216 

appeals — prosecuted and fined for refusing security 217 

tried — found "not guilty." but kept prisoner 219 

the Informer who had sworn falsely against him, con- 
fesses his guilt to him, and begs forgiveness 221 

kept in prison a long time for refusing to take the oath 
of allegiance 222 



JHE END. 



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